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OLD MAN MINICK 
A Short Story 

and 


MINICK 

A Play Based on the Short Story 















































































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“In the park old man Minick and all the old 
men gathered there found a Forum—a safety- 
valve—a means of expression.” 





THIS VOLUME CONTAINS: 

OLD MAN MI NICK 

A SHORT STORY 
- BY 

EDNA FERRER 


MINICK 

A PLAY BASED ON THE SHORT STORY 
BY 

EDNA FERBER and 
GEORGE S. KAUFMAN 

ALSO A BRIEF AND QUITE GRATUITOUS 
EXPLANATION BY THE AUTHORS i 



GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
1924 






TSzsn 

.E*6Wf 



COPYRIGHT, 1922, I924, BY 
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY THE CROWELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES 
AT 

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 

* * 

First Edition 

FEB -4 *25 

. © Cl A822113 V 


NOTE: 


“Minick” is the sole property of Winthrop Ames, 244 
West 44th St., and is fully protected by copyright. It 
may not be acted, either by professionals or amateurs, 
without the permission of Mr. Ames and the payment of 
a royalty. Public readings and radio broadcastings are 
likewise forbidden. 

















V 


/ 
































/ 







4 







Produced by Winthrop Ames at the Booth Theatre, 
New York, September 24th, 1924, with the following 
cast: 


LIL COREY . 

NETTIE MINICK .... 

ANNIE . 

JIM COREY . 

FRED MINICK . 

OLD MAN MINICK... 

AL DIAMOND . 

MARGE DIAMOND ... 

LULA . 

MR. DIETENHOFER .. 

MR. PRICE . 

MRS. SMALLRIDGE .. 
MISS CRACKENWALD 
MRS. LIPPINCOTT .. 
MISS STACK . 


. ANTOINETTE PERRY 

.PHYLLIS POVAH 

BEATRICE MORELAND 

. SYDNEY BOOTH 

. FREDERICK BURT 

. O. P. HEGGIE 

. RALPH BUNKER 

. MYRA HAMPTON 

. EMMA WISE 

CHARLES R. BURROWS 
.... THOMAS MEEGAN 
... LAVINIA - SHANNON 

. MARY HUBBARD 

.JESSIE GRAHAM 

.ANN WINSLOW 


Stage Manager: John Clements 


THE SCENE 

Living-room of Fred and Nettie Minick’s Apartment, 
5218 South. Park Avenue, Chicago. 

ACT I.—An Evening in Spring. 

ACT II.—Six Months Later. A November Afternoon. 
ACT III.—The Following Morning. 































LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

“In the park old man Minick and all the 
old men gathered there found a Forum.” 

Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

“Dad, you know how awfully glad we are 

to have you here, don’t you?” . . . 114 

“Yes, sir! And you and I got to think of 
some way to stop him!” . . . . 162 


Oh! For- 


218 




AN EXPLANATION 


It is in response to one of the smallest nation¬ 
wide demands in history that these random notes 
about the writing of “Minick” are set down. In 
the beginning we were moved to undertake an 
explanatory article by the frequency with which 
we encountered the well-meaning query: “Tell 
me —how do you make a play out of a short 
story ?” A little meditation, however, convinced 
us that the question would have to be answered by 
more skilled technicians than those who are wield¬ 
ing this twin pen. Frankly, we don’t know. 

All that remains, then, is to tell something 
about the problems encountered in the turning of 
this particular story into a play. If, in so doing, 
we can shed even a narrow gleam upon the 
hazardous process of dramatization—if one 
person who has asked the question picks up this 
volume and finds half of one per cent of the an¬ 
swer—then the undersigned will be both pleased 
and astonished, equal parts. 

Herein, then, are to be found merely sundry 
notes—in the main disconnected—having to do 
with the fashioning of “Minick,” the play, out of 
“Old Man Minick,” the short story. Inevitably, 
it will be an article in which a certain consciousness 
of accomplishment will be detectable: probably 
there will be spots in it where we seem to be stand- 


xi 


AN EXPLANATION 


ing proudly at one side and remarking: “Oh, 
look what we did!” Something of this, however, 
is almost unavoidable in an article of the kind; if 
at any point the reader becomes over-conscious of 
it we can only advise him to put down the book, as 
gently as possible, and bring suit. 

One thing more. The points that we have 
taken up are reasonably technical, and deal with 
intimate details of the story and the play. 
Properly speaking, these few pages should have 
been placed at the back of the book, and the 
contents read in that order. Perhaps, if it 
weren’t for an uneasy feeling that you might never 
reach them, they would have been. At all events, 
here they are. Reading them, you will at least 
understand why “Minick” isn’t a better play. 

“How do you make a play out of a short 
story?” There seemed, in the minds of the 
questioners, to be a clear intimation that it would 
be a hard job primarily because a short story is 
short. You can read a short story in fifteen or 
twenty minutes; a play must last for two and a 
half hours. How do you ever —that is, where 
do you get enough stuff to —you know what I 
mean. 

Probably none of those who asked the question 
really meant it—they were just graciously leading 
the conversation into channels that they felt would 
be flattering. The facts in the case are almost 
too obvious to require pointing out: that not the 
length of a story, but the theatrical effectiveness 
of its idea, is the important thing where a 

xii 


AN EXPLANATION 


dramatization is concerned. As a matter of fact, 
the average short story is more likely to be 
dramatic material than is the average novel— 
although this may be a foolish generalisation. 
But, in general, the short story is concise, rounded, 
built around a central climax, and concerned with 
a definite group of characters. The novel is more 
likely to be a wandering affair—spread over the 
years, perhaps, and with form only a secondary 
consideration. The problem of encasing its 
several stories within the confines of a play is a 
difficult one. 

Then too, novels are more widely read than 
short stories, and you have therefore a larger 
audience that comes to the play with a precon¬ 
ceived idea as to what it ought to contain. And 
this group the playwright never can satisfy: each 
member of it has picked a favourite bit from the 
novel, and is lamentably disappointed if it is not 
included in the play—and included, mind you, in 
the exact form and circumstances in which it 
figured in the novel. It may require laying an 
entire act in a dentist’s waiting room—let us say 
that the favourite episode was concerned with the 
presence on the dentist’s table of World’s Work 
for May, 1896—but the admirers of that situa¬ 
tion will always feel certain that its inclusion was 
vital to the play. The fact that you have to show 
little Ethelind being hurled from her pony cart 
at exactly that point in the play, and that she 
would hardly be out riding in a dentist’s waiting 
room, is an obstacle that is tossed lightly aside. 

xiii 


AN EXPLANATION 


To be sure, dramatizing a short story instead 
of a novel does not entirely free you from this 
audience. Two questions were hurled at us with 
particular frequency after the play was announced 
for production: “Have you got the scene with 
the old men in the park?” and “How about the 
pillows—did you get them in?” No one, as yet, 
has written a hot letter of protest because Nettie’s 
husband is named George in the short story and 
emerges as Fred in the play, nor has there been 
objection to the omission of the episode of the 
sewing woman. 

But the pillows and the park recurred again and 
again. So far as we can recall, the presence of 
the pillows in the play marks the only instance 
in which a deliberate attempt was made to 
appease those who had read the story. It may 
be broadly stated that such a policy is always a 
mistake in the case of a dramatization— 
certainly the episode of the pillows means 
practically nothing in “Minick,” and might as 
well not be there. One is likely to forget, in 
the course of dramatizing a story, just how 
small will be the proportion of the audience 
that has read the story. Any figures, of course, 
would be guess work, but there are unlikely to 
be more than one out of a hundred. And if 
the play enjoys a long run the proportion will 
be even smaller. 

As for the scene in the park—in which, it will 
be recalled, the old men elaborately discuss 
everything from the big issues of the day to 


xiv 


AN EXPLANATION 


the detailed movements of a young woman 
sitting on the grass—it was early decided that 
this would be more effective indoors. The 
reasons were numerous. In the first place, 
nothing that the old men said or did in the park 
was sufficiently weighty to support an entire act, 
and to endeavour to inject a plot element into 
such a scene would almost surely have been 
fatal. (Consider, for example, what it would 
have meant to have brought Fred and Nettie 
arbitrarily into the park and straight to the 
bench on which Old Man Minick was sitting— 
parks are so small after all!—and of the cosy 
little scene of domestic upheaval that could have 
been staged in these surroundings.) The alter¬ 
native method of keeping the park locale would 
have been to have broken an act into two scenes, 
one in the park and one in the house. This, 
however, would have meant untold scenic diffi¬ 
culties. A dull wait of several minutes for the 
change of scene; a stage park that would always 
look just a little like a stage park, no matter 
how cleverly contrived (particularly risky in a 
play written for realism), and the additional 
fact that the scene in the house, because it would 
have to be built for quick clearing, never could 
be quite as roomy and as real as it ought to be. 
These the negative arguments; on the other side 
was the fact that far greater dramatic! value 
could be got by bringing the old men into 
Nettie’s carefully kept apartment. (She could 
hardly have scolded them for dropping ashes on 


xv 


AN EXPLANATION 


the nice clean park.) Nettie’s attitude toward 
the old men, growing out of this scene, could be 
used to help Minick toward a realisation of his 
false position in the household, and thus a 
seemingly irrelevant scene could be knit into the 
body and the theme of the play. In the park, 
it could never have been anything but one¬ 
dimensional. 

And then, to clear up the points of departure 
between story and play, there was The Baby. 
As the time went on it came to be spoken of 
with bigger and bigger capital letters. In the 
beginning there was no thought but that The 
Baby was the solution of the play—Minick 
would overhear Nettie say that she could not 
have a child while he continued to live with 
them, just as he did in the story, and there 
would be the reason for his departure. This 
was the original third act of the play. In the 
story, of course, it was a simple matter to say 
that the old man had overheard Nettie’s re¬ 
mark; on the stage he had to be shown over¬ 
hearing it, and it meant a tricky bit of mechanics. 
So, in an endeavour to avoid the usual theatrical 
device and thus give the scene a certain plausi¬ 
bility, it was planned to reverse the usual process 
—Minick, instead of hiding behind a screen 
somewhere, would be in full view of the audi¬ 
ence, and Nettie would utter the fatal words to 
Lil while sipping coffee in the adjoining room. 
To this end a scene of no plot consequence was 
played in the dining room at an earlier point 


xvi 


AN EXPLANATION 


in the act—so that the audience, accustomed to 
a scene’s being placed in a somewhat remote 
part of the stage, would accept the later and 
vital scene with a minimum of questioning. To 
this end, also, it was arranged to provide Nettie 
with a cup of coffee long after the breakfast 
hour, so that she and Lil might reasonably be 
drawn into the dining room. 

Winthrop Ames and Woodman Thompson, 
respectively the producer and the scene designer 
—and a good deal more—were the first to sense 
the awkwardness of the scene that we had 
contrived. .They made every attempt to give 
it plausibility. By ingeniously setting the room 
at an angle they brought the dining room within 
easy view of most of the audience, and, by a 
fluid movement of characters between the two 
rooms in earlier scenes, Mr. Ames sought to 
establish the dining room as a part of the stage 
proper, all to the end that a ‘badly conceived 
scene might take on conviction when it finally 
arrived. But it didn’t. At the first perform- 
ance out of town it was apparent that it never 
would work. Minick was required to come 
boldly onto the stage and anchor himself in a 
certain spot long enough to hear what Nettie 
was saying. It was just a bit of bad theatre in 
a play that had been trying—trying too hard, 
perhaps—to keep away from theatre, good or 
bad. 

In an endeavour to improve matters we first 
made them worse. We went back to the con- 

xvii 


AN EXPLANATION 


ventional stage overhearing. The two women 
were permitted to sip their coffee on stage, and 
during the vital dialogue they were required to 
face steadfastly in a, certain direction, so that 
Minick might enter and overhear without being 
seen. It proved even more false than the 
earlier device, and it began to be clear that 
Minick could not be permitted to overhear at all 
if we wanted to preserve an atmosphere of real¬ 
ism. We considered, first in jest and later in 
desperation, the expedient of having the state 
of affairs revealed to him by the Negro maid. 
The Baby, of course, was dramatically useless 
unless we could plausibly call it to Minick’s at¬ 
tention; that failing, we would have to abandon 
the whole baby idea. 

Then a rather astonishing thing happened. 
We found that The Baby never had belonged in 
the play at all (as a motivating force, that is; 
it still figures in a casual way). The entire con¬ 
tents of Acts I and II had been such as to 
show Minick’s complete incompatibility with the 
household in which he lived; if the play were to 
become a rounded whole the material of these 
acts would have become the driving force of Act 
III. The hopelessness of the old man’s evenings, 
the fact that he could not entertain his friends in 
the house, his interference in Fred’s business and 
in Nettie’s club meeting—all of these clearly 
pointed the way and constituted the play. Sud¬ 
denly to abandon them in Act III, and to substi¬ 
tute for them a new and purely local device for 

xviii 


AN EXPLANATION 


sending Minick away, would be to throw away the 
play and everything that it meant. How we over¬ 
looked this obvious point in the original writing 
of the play we never have been able to figure. 
Our only excuse is that the third act was planned 
and written in about twenty-four hours—and at 
a time when we were thoroughly tired from 
writing the first two. 

In all, there were a good many last acts. The 
mere fact that we had hit upon our major falsity 
did not mean that we immediately wrote the right 
last act—on the contrary, three or four versions 
were written and played before we found one that 
was satisfactory. The one included in this vol¬ 
ume, and used in the playing version, is the next 
to the last that was written. The final one, most 
of which was never even rehearsed, lies some¬ 
where between New York and Buffalo. 

A few words, so long as the matter has already 
been touched upon, about the way in which the 
play was written. The three acts were turned 
out in seven driving days—days and nights, for 
that matter—but some six or eight weeks of pre¬ 
liminary work preceded the writing. Most of 
this was devoted to detailed discussion, but there 
was also some playwriting. Each of us wrote 
large parts of an act—one the first and one the 
second—and, although practically all of this dia¬ 
logue was discarded when we came to work to¬ 
gether, it did serve as a valuable basis. The first 
two acts were planned in detail before we began 
joint writing; hardly a thought was given to the 


xix 


AN EXPLANATION 


contents of the last until the first two 
were finished. As already intimated, it was 
not a working scheme that made for sound last 
acts. 

But, if too little thought was bestowed upon the 
final act, there were other points of the play where 
consideration was fairly lavished. There was, 
for example, the matter of Fred’s business—the 
selection of the line of work in which he was 
engaged when he took up the mail order scheme. 
This, we felt, had to be picked with a good deal of 
care; we wanted something substantially prosaic, 
something that would lend itself to a good deal of 
commonplace business talk around the house. 
Line after line was considered and dropped; Fred 
was successively a shopkeeper, a travelling sales¬ 
man, an insurance agent. Nothing seemed to fit 
just exactly with the well-to-do middle-class 
atmosphere in which we wanted the characters to 
move. We spent two entire days in discussing 
this point and nothing else; we interviewed 
business friends and haunted the commercial 
districts for two days more. Then finally we hit 
it. Fred would be credit man for a large office 
fixture concern—it was a line of work that would 
bring with it a rich vocabulary, and this we would 
sprinkle copiously through the play. Perhaps 
there would be one or two scenes devoted to busi¬ 
ness talk alone. . . . We have, of course, elab¬ 
orately foreshadowed the denouement. The 
result: there is not a line in the play that contains 
even a remote reference to Fred’s work as a credit 


xx 


AN EXPLANATION 


man, and from first to last the nature of his 
business never mattered in the least. 

Finally, there is the title. The play, of course, 
should be called “Old Man Minick,” and in the 
beginning it was. But it seems that there is a 
large and growing class of playgoers who become 
frightened at the prospect of seeing an old man on 
the stage, and run and hide in cellars. We rather 
thought—basing our guess on “Lightnin’ ” and 
“The Music Master” and “Rip Van Winkle” and 
some others—that the opposite would be the case. 
But when we heard of gay dinner parties shudder¬ 
ing with horror at the merest mention of a play 
with “Old Man” in the title, and when, in the 
early days on the road, whole towns remained 
steadfastly away from the theatre in which the 
play was being acted, we weakened and agreed to 
the change. After all, even collaborators must 
live. 


The Authors. 


xxi 



THE STORY: 
OLD MAN MINICK 

by 

EDNA FERBER 








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OLD MAN MINICK 

His wife had always spoiled him outrageously. 
No doubt of that. Take, for example, the mat¬ 
ter of the pillows merely. Old man Minick slept 
high. That is, he thought he slept high. He 
liked two plump pillows on his side of the great, 
wide, old-fashioned cherry bed. He would sink 
into them with a vast grunting and sighing and 
puffing expressive of nerves and muscles relaxed 
and gratified. But in the morning there was 
always one pillow on the floor. He had thrown 
it there. Always, in the morning, there it lay, its 
plump white cheek turned reproachfully up at 
him from the side of the bed. Ma Minick knew 
this, naturally, after forty years of the cherry 
bed. But she never begrudged him that extra 
pillow. Each morning, when she arose, she 
picked it up on her way to shut the window. 
Each morning the bed was made up with two 
pillows on his side of it, as usual. 

Then there was the window. Ma Minick liked 
it open wide. Old man Minick, who rather 
prided himself on his modernism (he called it 
being up to date), was distrustful of the night 
air. In the folds of its sable mantle lurked a 
swarm of dread things—colds, clammy miasmas, 
fevers. 


3 


OLD MAN MINICK 


“Night air’s just like any other air,” Ma 
Minick would say, with some asperity. Ma 
Minick was no worm; and as modern as he. So 
when they went to bed the window would be open 
wide. They would lie there, the two old ones, 
talking comfortably about commonplace things. 
The kind of talk that goes on between a man and 
woman who have lived together in wholesome 
peace (spiced with occasional wholesome bicker¬ 
ings) for more than forty years. 

“Remind me to see Gerson to-morrow about 
that lock on the basement door. The paper’s 
full of burglars.” 

“If I think of it.” She never failed to. 

“George and Nettie haven’t been over in a 
week now.” 

“Oh, well, young folks . . . Did you stop in 
and pay that Koritz the fifty cents for pressing 
your suit?” 

“By golly, I forgot again! First thing in the 
morning.” 

A sniff. “Just smell the Yards.” It was 
Chicago. 

“Wind must be from the west.” 

Sleep came with reluctant feet, but they wooed 
her patiently. And presently she settled down 
between them and they slept lightly. Usually, 
some time during the night, he awoke, slid 
cautiously and with infinite stealth from beneath 
the covers, and closed the wide-flung window to 
within a bare two inches of the sill. Almost in¬ 
variably she heard him; but she was a wise old 


4 


OLD MAN MINICK 


woman; a philosopher of parts. She knew better 
than to allow a window to shatter the peace of 
their marital felicity. As she lay there, smiling 
a little grimly in the dark and giving no sign of 
being awake, she thought, “Oh, well, I guess a 
closed window won’t kill me either.” 

Still, sometimes, just to punish him a little, and 
to prove that she was nobody’s fool, she would 
wait until he had dropped off to sleep again and 
then she, too, would achieve a stealthy trip to 
the window and would raise it slowly, carefully, 
inch by inch. 

“How did that window come to be open?” 
he would say in the morning, being a poor 
dissembler. 

“Window? Why, it’s just the way it was 
when we went to bed.” And she would stoop 
to pick up the pillow that lay on the floor. 

There was little or no talk of death between 
this comfortable, active, sound-appearing man of 
almost seventy and this plump capable woman of 
sixty-six. But as always, between husband and 
wife, it was understood wordlessly (and without 
reason) that old man Minick would go first. 
Not that either of them had the slightest inten¬ 
tion of going. In fact, when it happened they 
were planning to spend the winter in California 
and perhaps live there indefinitely if they liked 
it and didn’t get too lonesome for George and 
Nettie, and the Chicago smoke, and Chicago 
noise, and Chicago smells and rush and dirt. 
Still, the solid sum paid yearly in insurance pre- 

5 


OLD MAN MINICK 


miums showed clearly that he meant to leave her 
in comfort and security. Besides, the world is 
full of widows. Every one sees that. But how 
many widowers? Few. Widows there are by 
the thousands; living alone; living in hotels; living 
with married daughters and sons-in-law or mar¬ 
ried sons and daughters-in-law. But of widowers 
in a like situation there are bewilderingly few. 
And why this should be no one knows. 

So, then. The California trip never material¬ 
ised. And the year that followed never was 
quite clear in old man Minick’s dazed mind. In 
the first place, it was the year in which stocks 
tumbled and broke their backs,. Gilt-edged 
securities showed themselves to be tinsel. Old 
man Minick had retired from active business just 
one year before, meaning to live comfortably on 
the fruit of a half-century’s toil. He now saw 
that fruit rotting all about him. There was in 
it hardly enough nourishment to sustain them. 
Then came the day when Ma Minick went down¬ 
town to see Matthews about that pain right here 
and came home looking shrivelled, talking shrilly 
about nothing, and evading Pa’s eyes. Followed 
months that were just a jumble of agony, X-rays, 
hope, despair, morphia, nothingness. 

After it was all over: “But I was going first,” 
old man Minick said, dazedly. 

The old house on Ellis near Thirty-ninth was 
sold for what it would bring. George, who knew 
Chicago real estate if any one did, said they 
might as well get what they could. Things would 

6 


OLD MAN MINICK 


only go lower. You’ll see. And nobody’s go¬ 
ing to have any money for years. Besides, look 
at the neighbourhood! 

Old man Minick said George was right. He 
said everybody was right. You would hardly 
have recognised in this shrunken figure and wat¬ 
tled face the spruce and dressy old man whom 
Ma Minick used to spoil so delightfully. “You 
know best, George. You know best.” He who 
used to stand up to George until Ma Minick was 
moved to say, “Now, Pa, you don’t know 
everything.” 

After Matthews’ bills, and the hospital, and 
the nurses and the medicines and the thousand 
and one things were paid there was left exactly 
five hundred dollars a year. 

“You’re going to make your home with us, 
Father,” George and Nettie said. Alma, too, 
said this would be the best. Alma, the married 
daughter, lived in Seattle. “Though you know 
Ferd and I would be only too glad to have you.” 

Seattle! The ends of the earth. Oh, no. 
No! he protested, every fibre of his old frame 
clinging to the accustomed. Seattle, at seventy! 
He turned piteous eyes on his son George and 
his daughter-in-law Nettie. “You’re going to 
make your home with us, Father,” they reassured 
him. He clung to them gratefully. After it 
was over Alma went home to her husband and 
their children. 

So now he lived with George and Nettie in the 
five-room flat on South Park Avenue, just across 

7 


OLD MAN MINICK 


from Washington Park. And there was no extra 
pillow on the floor. 

Nettie hadn’t said he couldn’t have the extra 
pillow. He had told her he used two and she 
had given him two the first week. But every 
morning she had found a pillow cast on the floor. 

“I thought you used two pillows, Father.” 

“I do.” 

“But there’s always one on the floor when I 
make the bed in the morning. You always throw 
one on the floor. You only sleep on one pillow, 
really.” 

“I use two pillows.” 

But the second week there was one pillow. He 
tossed and turned a good deal there in his bed¬ 
room off the kitchen. But he got used to it in 
time. Not used to it, exactly, but—well- 

The bedroom off the kitchen wasn’t as menial 
as it sounds'. It was really rather cosy. The 
five-room flat held living room, front bedroom, 
dining room, kitchen, and maid’s room. The 
room off the kitchen was intended as a maid’s 
room but Nettie had no maid. George’s busi¬ 
ness had suffered with the rest. George and 
Nettie had said, “I wish there was a front room 
for you, Father. You could have ours and we’d 
move back here, only this room’s too small for 
twin beds' and the dressing table and the chif¬ 
fonier.” They had meant it—or meant to 
mean it. 

“This is fine,” old man Minick had said. 
“This is good enough for anybody.” There was 



OLD MAN MINICK 


a narrow white enamel bed and a tiny dresser 
and a table. Nettie had made gay cretonne 
covers and spreads and put a little reading lamp 
on the table and arranged his things. Ma Min- 
ick’s picture on the dresser with her mouth sort 
of pursed to make it look small. It wasn’t a 
recent picture. Nettie and George had had it 
framed for him as a surprise. They had often 
urged her to have a picture taken, but she had 
dreaded it. Old man Minick didn’t think much 
of that photograph, though he never said so. 
He needed no photograph of Ma Minick. He 
had a dozen of them; a gallery of them; thou¬ 
sands of them. Lying on his one pillow he could 
take them out and look at them one by one as 
they passed in review, smiling, serious, chiding, 
praising, there in the dark. He needed no picture 
on his dresser. 

A handsome girl, Nettie, and a good girl. He 
thought of her as a girl, though she was well 
past thirty. George and Nettie had married 
late. This was only the third year of their mar¬ 
riage. Alma, the daughter, had married young, 
but George had stayed on, unwed, in the old 
house on Ellis until he was thirty-six and all Ma 
Minick’s friends’ daughters had had a try at him 
in vain. The old people had urged him to marry, 
but it had been wonderful to have him around 
the house, just the same. Somebody young 
around the house. Not that George had stayed 
around very much. But when he was there you 
knew he was there. He whistled while dressing. 


9 


OLD MAN MINICK 


He sang in the bath. He roared down the stair¬ 
way, “Ma, where’s my clean shirts?” The tel¬ 
ephone rang for him. Ma Minick prepared 
special dishes for him. The servant girl said, 
“Oh, now, Mr. George, look what you’ve done! 
Gone and spilled the grease all over my clean 
kitchen floor!” and wiped it up adoringly while 
George laughed and gobbled his bit of food 
filched from pot or frying pan. 

They had been a little surprised about Nettie. 
George was in the bond business and she worked 
for the same firm. A plump, handsome, eye- 
glassed woman with fine fresh colouring, a clear 
skin that old man Minick called appetising, and 
a great coil of smooth dark hair. She wore plain 
tailored things and understood the bond business 
in a way that might have led you to think her a 
masculine mind if she hadn’t been so feminine, 
too, in her manner. Old man Minick had liked 
her better than Ma Minick had. 

Nettie had called him Pop and joked with him 
and almost flirted with him in a daughterly sort 
of way. He liked to squeeze her plump arm and 
pinch her soft cheek between thumb and fore¬ 
finger. She would laugh up at him and pat his 
shoulder and that shoulder would straighten 
spryly and he would waggle his head doggishly. 

“Look out there, George!” the others in the 
room would say. “Your dad’ll cut you out. 
First thing you know you’ll lose your girl, that’s 
all.” 

Nettie would smile. Her teeth were white 
io 


OLD MAN MINICK 

and strong and even. Old man Minick would 
laugh and wink, immensely pleased and flattered. 
“We understand each other, don’t we, Pop?” 
Nettie would say. 

During the first years of their married life 
Nettie stayed home. She fussed happily about 
her little flat, gave parties, went to parties, played 
bridge. She seemed to love the ease, the relaxa¬ 
tion, the small luxuries. She and George were 
very much in love. Before her marriage she 
had lived in a boarding house on Michigan 
Avenue. At mention of it now she puckered up 
her face. She did not attempt to conceal her 
fondness for these five rooms of hers, so neat, 
so quiet, so bright, so cosy. Over-stuffed velvet 
in the living room, with silk lamp-shades, and 
small tables holding books and magazines and 
little boxes containing cigarettes or hard candies. 
Very modern. A gate-legged table in the dining 
room. Caramel-coloured walnut in the bedroom, 
rich and dark and smooth. She loved it. An 
orderly woman. Everything in its place. Be¬ 
fore eleven o’clock the little apartment was 
shining, spotless; cushions plumped, crumbs 
brushed, vegetables in cold water. The tel¬ 
ephone. “Hello! . . . Oh, hello, Bess! Oh, 
hours ago . . . Not a thing . . . Well, if 
George is willing . . . I’ll call him up and ask 
him. We haven’t seen a show in two weeks. 
I’ll call you back within the next half hour. . . . 
No, I haven’t done my marketing yet. . . . Yes, 
and have dinner downtown. Meet at seven.” 


ii 


OLD MAN MINICK 


Into this orderly smooth-running mechanism 
was catapulted a bewildered old man. She no 
longer called him Pop. He never dreamed of 
squeezing the plump arm or pinching the smooth 
cheek. She called him Father. Sometimes 
George’s Father. Sometimes, when she was tel¬ 
ephoning, there came to him—“George’s father’s 
living with us now, you know. I can’t.” 

They were very kind to him, Nettie and 
George. “Now just you sit right down here, 
Father. What do you want to go poking off 
into your own room for?” 

He remembered that in the last year Nettie 
had said something about going back to work. 
There wasn’t enough to do around the house to 
keep her busy. She was sick of afternoon parties. 
Sew and eat, that’s all, and gossip, or play bridge. 
Besides, look at the money. Business was awful. 
The two old people had resented this idea as 
much as George had—more, in fact. They were 
scandalised. 

“Young folks nowadays!” shaking their heads. 
“Young folks nowadays. What are they think¬ 
ing of! In my days when you got married you 
had babies.” 

George and Nettie had had no babies. At 
first Nettie had said, “I’m so happy. I just want 
a chance to rest. I’ve been working since I was 
seventeen. I just want to rest, first.” One year. 
Two years. Three. And now Pa Minick. 

Ma Minick, in the old house on Ellis Avenue, 
had kept a loose sort of larder; not lavish, but 


12 


OLD MAN MINICK 


plentiful. They both ate a great deal, as old 
people are likely to do. Old man Minick, 
especially, had liked to nibble. A handful of 
raisins from the box on the shelf. A couple of 
nuts from the dish on the sideboard. A bit of 
candy rolled beneath the tongue. At dinner 
(sometimes, toward the last, even at noon-time) 
a plate of steaming soup, hot, revivifying, stim¬ 
ulating. Plenty of this and plenty of that. 
“What’s the matter, Jo? You’re not eating.” 
But he was, amply. Ma Minick had liked to see 
him eat too much. She was wrong, of course. 

But at Nettie’s things were different. Hers 
was a sufficient but stern menage. So many 
mouths to feed; just so many lamb chops. Nettie 
knew about calories and vitamines and mysterious 
things like that, and talked about them. So 
many calories in this. So many calories in that. 
He never was quite clear in his mind about these 
things said to be lurking in his food. He had 
always thought of spinach as spinach, chops as 
chops. But to Nettie they were calories. They 
lunched together, these two. George was, of 
course, downtown. For herself Nettie would 
have one of those feminine pick-up lunches; a 
dab of apple sauce, a cup of tea, and a slice of 
cold toast left from breakfast. This she would 
eat while old man Minick guiltily supped up his 
cup of warmed-over broth, or his coddled egg. 
She always pressed upon him any bit of cold meat 
that was left from the night before, or any rem¬ 
nants of vegetable or spaghetti. Often there was 

13 


OLD MAN MINICK 


quite a little fleet of saucers and sauce plates 
grouped about his main plate. Into these he 
dipped and swooped uncomfortably, and yet with 
a relish. Sometimes, when he had finished, he 
would look about, furtively. 

“What’ll you have, Father? Can I get you 
something?” 

“Nothing, Nettie, nothing. I’m doing fine.” 
She had finished the last of her wooden toast and 
was waiting for him kindly. 

Still, this balanced and scientific fare seemed 
to agree with him. As the winter went on he 
seemed actually to have regained most of his 
former hardiness and vigour. A handsome old 
boy he was, ruddy, hale, with the zest of a juicy 
old apple, slightly withered but still sappy. It 
should be mentioned that he had a dimple in his 
cheek which flashed unexpectedly when he smiled. 
It gave him a roguish—almost boyish—effect 
most appealing to the beholder. Especially the 
feminine beholder. Much of his spoiling at the 
hands of Ma Minick had doubtless been due to 
this mere depression of the skin. 

Spring was to bring a new and welcome source 
of enrichment into his life. But these first six 
months of his residence with George and Nettie 
were hard. No spoiling there. He missed be¬ 
ing made much of. He got kindness, but he 
needed love. Then, too, he was rather a gabby 
old man. He liked to hold forth. In the old 
house on Ellis there had been visiting back and 
forth between men and women of his own age, 


14 


OLD MAN MINICK 


and Ma’s. At these gatherings he had waxed 
oratorical or argumentative, and they had heard 
him, some in agreement, some in disagreement, 
but always respectfully, whether he prated of real 
estate or social depravity; prohibition or Euro¬ 
pean exchange. 

“Let me tell you, here and now, something’s 
got to be done before you can get a country back 
on a sound financial basis. Why, take Russia 
alone, why . . .” Or: “Young people nowa¬ 
days ! They don’t know what respect means. 
I tell you there’s got to be a change and there 
will be, and it’s the older generation that’s got 
to bring it about. What do they know of hard¬ 
ship ! What do they know about work—real 
work. Most of ’em’s never done a real day’s 
work in their life. All they think of is dancing 
and gambling and drinking. Look at the way 
they dress! Look at . . .” 

Ad lib. 

“That’s so,” the others would agree. “I was 
saying only yesterday . . 

Then, too, until a year or two before, he had 
taken active part in business. He had retired 
only at the urging of Ma and the children. They 
said he ought to rest and play and enjoy him¬ 
self. 

Now, as his strength and good spirits gradually 
returned he began to go downtown, mornings. 
He would dress, carefully, though a little shakily. 
He had always shaved himself and he kept this 
up. All in all, during the day, he occupied the 

15 


OLD MAN MINICK 


bathroom literally for hours, and this annoyed 
Nettie to the point of frenzy, though she said 
nothing. He liked the white cheerfulness of the 
little tiled room. He puddled about in the water 
endlessly. Snorted and splashed and puffed and 
snuffled and blew. He was one of those audible 
washers who emerge dripping and whose ablu¬ 
tions are distributed impartially over ceiling, 
walls, and floor. 

Nettie, at the closed door: “Father, are you 
all right?” 

Splash! Prrrf! “Yes. Sure. I’m all right.” 

“Well, I didn’t know. You’ve been in there 
so long.” 

He was a neat old man, but there was likely 
to be a spot or so on his vest or his coat lapel, or 
his tie. Ma used to remove these, on or off him, 
as the occasion demanded, rubbing carefully and 
scolding a little, making a chiding sound between 
tongue and teeth indicative of great impatience of 
his carelessness. He had rather enjoyed these 
sounds, and this rubbing and scratching on the 
cloth with the fingernail and moistened rag. 
They indicated that some one cared. Cared 
about the way he looked. Had pride in him. 
Loved him. Nettie never removed spots. 
Though infrequently she said, “Father, just leave 
that suit out, will you ? I’ll send it to the cleaner’s 
with George’s. The man’s coming to-morrow 
morning.” He would look down at himself, 
hastily, and attack a spot here and there with a 
futile fingernail. 


16 


OLD MAN MINICK 


His morning toilette completed, he would 
make for the Fifty-first Street L. Seated in the 
train he would assume an air of importance and 
testy haste; glance out of the window; look at 
his watch. You got the impression of a hand¬ 
some and well-preserved old gentleman on his 
way downtown to consummate a shrewd business 
deal. He had been familiar with Chicago’s 
downtown for fifty years and he could remem¬ 
ber when State Street was a tree-shaded cottage 
district. The noise and rush and clangour of 
the Loop had long been familiar to him. But 
now he seemed to find the downtown trip arduous, 
even hazardous. The roar of the elevated trains, 
the hoarse hoots of the motor horns, the clang 
of the street cars, the bedlam that is Chicago’s 
downtown district bewildered him, frightened 
him almost. He would skip across the street 
like a harried hare, just missing a motor truck’s 
nose and all unconscious of the stream of in¬ 
vective directed at him by its charioteer. “Heh! 
Whatcha! . . . Look!”— Sometimes a police¬ 
man came to his aid, or attempted to, but he re¬ 
sented his proffered help. 

“Say, look here, my lad,” he would say to the 
tall, tired, and not at all burly (standing on one’s 
feet directing traffic at Wabash and Madison for 
eight hours a day does not make for burliness) 
policeman, “I’ve been coming downtown since 
long before you were born. You don’t need to 
help me. I’m no jay from the country.” 

He visited the Stock Exchange. This de- 

17 


OLD MAN MINICK 


pressed him. Stocks were lower than ever and 
still going down. His five hundred a year was 
safe, but the rest seemed doomed for his life¬ 
time, at least. He would drop in at George’s 
office. George’s office was pleasantly filled with 
dapper, neat young men and (surprisingly 
enough) dapper, slim young women, seated at 
desks in the big light-flooded room. At one 
corner of each desk stood a polished metal placard 
on a little standard and bearing the name of the 
desk’s occupant. Mr. Owens. Mr. Satterlee. 
Mr. James. Miss Rauch. Mr. Minick. 

“Hello, Father,” Mr. Minick would say, look¬ 
ing annoyed. “What’s bringing you down?” 

“Oh, nothing. Nothing. Just had a little 
business to tend to over at the Exchange. 
Thought I’d drop in. How’s business?” 

“Rotten.” 

“I should think it was!” Old man Min¬ 
ick would agree. “I—should—think it—was! 
Hm.” 

George wished he wouldn’t. He couldn’t 
have it, that’s all. Old man Minick would stroll 
over to the desk marked Satterlee, or Owens, or 
James. These brisk young men would toss an 
upward glance at him and concentrate again on 
the sheets and files before them. Old man Min¬ 
ick would stand, balancing from heel to toe and 
blowing out his breath a little. He looked a bit 
yellow and granulated and wavering, there in the 
cruel morning light of the big plate glass win¬ 
dows. Or perhaps it was the contrast he pre- 

18 


OLD MAN MINICK 


sented with these slim, slick young salesmen. 

“Well, h’are you to-day, Mr.—uh—Satterlee? 
What’s the good word?” 

Mr. Satterlee would not glance up this time. 
“I’m pretty well. Can’t complain.” 

“Good. Good.” 

“Anything I can do for you?” 

“No-o-o. No. Not a thing. Just dropped 
in to see my son a minute.” 

“I see.” Not unkindly. Then, as old man 
Minick still stood there, balancing, Mr. Satterlee 
would glance up again, frowning a little. “Your 
son’s desk is over there, I believe. Yes.” 

George and Nettie had a bedtime conference 
about these visits and Nettie told him gently, 
that the bond house head objected to friends and 
relatives dropping in. It was against office rules. 
It had been so when she was employed there. 
Strictly business. She herself had gone there 
only once since her marriage. 

Well, that was all right. Business was like 
that nowadays. Rush and grab and no time for 
anything. 

The winter was a hard one, with a record 
snowfall and intense cold. He stayed indoors 
for days together. A woman of his own age in 
like position could have occupied herself usefully 
and happily. She could have hemmed a sash- 
curtain; knitted or crocheted; tidied a room; 
taken a hand in the cooking or preparing of food; 
ripped an old gown; made over a new one; in¬ 
dulged in an occasional afternoon festivity with 

19 


OLD MAN MINICK 


women of her own years. But for old man 
Minick there were no small tasks. There was 
nothing he could do to make his place in the 
household justifiable. He wasn’t even partic¬ 
ularly good at those small jobs of hammering, or 
painting, or general “fixing.” Nettie could drive 
a nail more swiftly, more surely than he. “Now, 
Father, don’t you bother. I’ll do it. Just you 
go and sit down. Isn’t it time for your after¬ 
noon nap?” 

He waxed a little surly. “Nap! I just got 
up. I don’t want to sleep my life away.” 

George and Nettie frequently had guests in 
the evening. They played bridge, or poker, or 
talked. 

“Come in, Father,” George would say. 
“Come in. You all know Dad, don’t you, folks?” 
He would sit down, uncertainly. At first he had 
attempted to expound, as had been his wont in 
the old house on Ellis. “I want to say, here 
and now, that this country’s got to . . .” But 
they went on, heedless of him. They interrupted 
or refused, politely, to listen. So he sat in the 
room, yet no part of it. The young people’s 
talk swirled and eddied all about him. He was 
utterly lost in it. Now and then Nettie or 
George would turn to him and with raised voice 
(he was not at all deaf and prided himself on 
it) would shout, “It’s about this or that, Father. 
He was saying . . .” 

When the group roared with laughter at a 
sally from one of them he would smile uncertainly 


20 


OLD MAN MINICK 


but amiably, glancing from one to the other in 
complete ignorance of what had passed, but 
not resenting it. He took to sitting more and 
more in his kitchen bedroom, smoking a comfort¬ 
ing pipe and reading and re-reading the evening 
paper. During that winter he and Canary, the 
negro washwoman, became quite good friends. 
She washed down in the basement once a week 
but came up to the kitchen for her massive lunch. 
A walrus-waisted black woman, with a rich 
throaty voice, a rolling eye, and a kindly heart. 
He actually waited for her appearance above the 
laundry stairs. 

“Weh, how’s Mist’ Minick to-day! Ah nev’ 
did see a gemun spry’s you ah fo’ yo’ age. No, 
suh! Nev’ did.” 

At this rare praise he would straighten his 
shoulders and waggle his head. “I’m worth any 
ten of these young sprats to-day.” Canary would 
throw back her head in a loud and companion¬ 
able guffaw. 

Nettie would appear at the kitchen swinging 
door. “Canary’s having her lunch, Father. 
Don’t you want to come into the front room with 
me ? We’ll have our lunch in another half-hour.” 

He followed her obediently enough. Nettie 
thought of him as a troublesome and rather 
pathetic child—a child who would never grow 
up. If she attributed any thoughts to that fine 
old head they were ambling thoughts, bordering, 
perhaps, on senility. Little did she know how 
expertly this old one surveyed her and how 


21 


OLD MAN MINICK 


ruthlessly he passed judgment. She never sus¬ 
pected the thoughts that formed in the active 
brain. 

He knew about women. He had married a 
woman. He had had children by her. He 
looked at this woman—his son’s wife—moving 
about her little five-room flat. She had theories 
about children. He had heard her expound 
them. You didn’t have them except under such 
and such circumstances. It wasn’t fair other¬ 
wise. Plenty of money for their education. 
Well. He and his wife had had three children. 
Paul, the second, had died at thirteen. A blow, 
that had been. They had not always planned 
for the coming of the three but they always had 
found a way, afterward. You managed, some¬ 
how, once the little wrinkled red ball had fought 
its way into the world. You managed. You 
managed. Look at George! Yet when he was 
born, thirty-nine years ago, Pa and Ma Minick 
had been hard put to it. 

Sitting there, while Nettie dismissed him as 
negligible, he saw her clearly, grimly. He 
looked at her. She was plump, but not too short, 
with a generous width between the hips; a broad 
full bosom, but firm; round arms and quick slim 
legs; a fine sturdy throat. The curve between 
arm and breast made a graceful, gracious line 
. . . Working in a bond office . . . Working in 
a bond office . . . There was nothing in the Bible 
about working in a bond office. Here was a 
woman built for child-bearing. 


22 


OLD MAN MINICK 


She thought him senile, negligible. 

In March Nettie had in a sewing woman for a 
week. She had her two or three times a year. 
A hawk-faced woman of about forty-nine, with a 
blue-bottle figure and a rapacious eye. She sewed 
in the dining room and there was a pleasant hum 
of machine and snip of scissors and murmur of 
conversation and rustle of silky stuff; and hot 
savoury dishes for lunch. She and old man Min- 
ick became great friends. She even let him take 
out bastings. This when Nettie had gone out 
from two to four, between fittings. 

He chuckled and waggled his head. “I expect 
to be paid regular assistant’s wages for this,” he 
said. 

“I guess you don’t need any wages, Mr. Min- 
ick,” the woman said. “I guess you’re pretty 
well fixed.” 

“Oh, well, I can’t complain.” (Five hundred 
a year.) 

“Complain! I should say not! If I was to 
complain it’d be different. Work all day to keep 
myself; and nobody to come home to at night.” 

“Widow, ma’am?” 

“Since I was twenty. Work, work, that’s all 
I’ve had. And lonesome! I suppose you don’t 
know what lonesome is.” 

“Oh, don’t I!” slipped from him. He had 
dropped the bastings. 

The sewing woman flashed a look at him from 
the cold hard eye. “Well, maybe you do. I 
suppose living here like this, with sons and 

23 


OLD MAN MINICK 

daughters, ain’t so grand, for all your money. 
Now me, I’ve always managed to keep my own 
little place that I could call home, to come back 
to. It’s only two rooms, and nothing to rave 
about, but it’s home. Evenings I just cook and 
fuss around. Nobody to fuss for, but I fuss, 
anyway. Cooking, that’s what I love to do. 
Plenty of good food, that’s what folks need to 
keep their strength up.” Nettie’s lunch that day 
had been rather scant. 

She was there a week. In Nettie’s absence she 
talked against her. He protested, but weakly. 
Did she give him egg-noggs? Milk? Hot 
toddy? Soup? Plenty of good rich gravy and 
meat and puddings? Well! That’s what folks 
needed when they weren’t so young any more. 
Not that he looked old. My, no. Spryer than 
many young boys, and handsomer than his own 
son if she did say so. 

He fed on it, hungrily. The third day she was 
flashing meaning glances at him across the lunch¬ 
eon table. The fourth she pressed his foot 
beneath the table. The fifth, during Nettie’s 
afternoon absence, she got up, ostensibly to look 
for a bit of cloth which she needed for sewing, 
and, passing him, laid a caressing hand on his 
shoulder. Laid it there and pressed his shoulder 
ever so little. He looked up, startled. The 
glances across the luncheon had largely passed 
over his head; the foot beneath the table might 
have been an accident. But this—this was un¬ 
mistakable. He stood up, a little shakily. She 


24 


OLD MAN MINICK 

caught his hand. The hawk-like face was close 
to his. 

u You need somebody to love you,” she said. 
“Somebody to do for you, and love you.” The 
hawk face came nearer. He leaned a little 
toward it. But between it and his face was Ma 
Minick’s face, plump, patient, quizzical, kindly. 
His head came back sharply. He threw the 
woman’s hot hand from him. 

“Woman!” he cried. “Jezebel!” 

The front door slammed. Nettie. The 
woman flew to her sewing. Old man Minick, 
shaking, went into his kitchen bedroom. 

“Well,” said Nettie, depositing her bundles 
on the dining-room table, “did you finish that 
faggoting? Why, you haven’t done so very 
much, have you!” 

“I ain’t feeling so good,” said the woman. 
“That lunch didn’t agree with me.” 

“Why, it was a good plain lunch. I don’t 


“Oh, it was plain enough, all right.” 

Next day she did not come to finish her work. 
Sick, she telephoned. Nettie called it an outrage. 
She finished the sewing herself, though she hated 
sewing. Pa Minick said nothing, but there was 
a light in his eye. Now and then he chuckled,' 
to Nettie’s infinite annoyance, though she said 
nothing. 

“Wanted to marry me!” he said to himself, 
chuckling. “Wanted to marry me! The old 
rip!” 


25 



OLD MAN MINICK 


At the end of April, Pa Minick discovered 
Washington Park, and the Club, and his whole 
life was from that day transformed. 

He had taken advantage of the early spring 
sunshine to take a walk, at Nettie’s sugges¬ 
tion. 

“Why don’t you go into the Park, Father? 
It’s really warm out. And the sun’s lovely. 
Do you good.” 

He had put on his heaviest shirt, and a muffler, 
and George’s old red sweater with the great 
white “C” on its front, emblem of George’s 
athletic prowess at the University of Chicago; and 
over all, his greatcoat. He had taken warm 
mittens and his cane with the greyhound’s-head 
handle, carved. So equipped he had ambled un¬ 
interestedly over to the Park across the way. 
And there he had found new life. 

New life in old life. For the Park was full 
of old men. Old men like himself, with 
greyhound’s-head canes, and mufflers and some¬ 
body’s sweater worn beneath their greatcoats. 
They wore arctics, though the weather was fine. 
The skin of their hands and cheek-bones was 
glazed and had a tight look though it lay in fine 
little folds. There were splotches of brown on 
the backs of their hands, and on the temples and 
forehead. Their heavy grey or brown socks 
made comfortable folds above their ankles. 
From that April morning until winter drew on 
the Park saw old man Minick daily. Not only 
daily but by the day. Except for his meals, and 

2 6 


OLD MAN MINICK 


a brief hour for his after-luncheon nap, he spent 
all his time there. 

For in the Park old man Minick and all the 
old men gathered there found a Forum—a safety 
valve—a means of expression. It did not take 
him long to discover that the Park was divided 
into two distinct sets of old men. There were 
the old men who lived with their married sons 
and daughters-in-law or married daughters and 
sons-in-law. Then there were the old men who 
lived in the Grant Home for Aged Gentlemen. 
You saw its fine red-brick fagade through the 
trees at the edge of the Park. 

And the slogan of these first was: 

“My son and my da’ter they wouldn’t want me 
to live in any public Home. No, sirree! They 
want me right there with them. In their own 
home. That’s the kind of son and daughter I’ve 
got!” 

The slogan of the second was: 

“I wouldn’t live with any son or daughter. 
Independent. That’s me. My own boss. No¬ 
body to tell me what I can do and what I can’t. 
Treat you like a child. I’m my own boss! 
Pay my own good money and get my keep 
for it.” 

The first group, strangely enough, was likely 
to be spotted of vest and a little frayed as to 
collar. You saw them going on errands for their 
daughters-in-law. A loaf of bread. Spool of 
white No. ioo. They took their small grand¬ 
children to the duck pond and between the two 

27 


OLD MAN MINICK 


toddlers hand in hand—the old and infirm and the 
infantile and infirm—it was hard to tell which 
led which. 

The second group was shiny as to shoes, spot¬ 
less as to linen, dapper as to clothes. They had 
no small errands. Theirs was a magnificent 
leisure. And theirs was magnificent conversa¬ 
tion. The questions they discussed and settled 
there in the Park—these old men—were not 
international merely. They were cosmic in 
scope. 

The War? Peace? Disarmament? China? 
Free love? Mere conversational bubbles to be 
tossed in the air and disposed of in a burst of 
foam. Strong meat for old man Minick who 
had so long been fed on pap. But he soon got 
used to it. Between four and five in the after¬ 
noon, in a spot known as Under The Willows, the 
meeting took the form of a club—an open forum. 
A certain group made up of Socialists, Free 
Thinkers, parlour anarchists, bolshevists, had for 
years drifted there for talk. Old man Minick 
learned high-sounding phrases. “The Masters 
. . . democracy . . . toil of the many for the 
good of the few . . . the ruling class . . . free 
speech . . . the People. . . .” 

The strong-minded ones held forth. The 
weaker ones drifted about on the outskirts, some¬ 
times clinging to the moist and sticky paw of a 
round-eyed grandchild. Earlier in the day—at 
eleven o’clock, say—the talk was not so general 
nor so inclusive. The old men were likely to 

28 


OLD MAN MINICK 


drift into groups of two or three or four. They 
sat on sun-bathed benches and their conversation 
was likely to be rather smutty at times, for all 
they looked so mild and patriarchal and desic¬ 
cated. They paid scant heed to the white-haired 
old women who, like themselves, were sunning in 
the park. They watched the young women 
switch by, with appreciative glances at their trim 
figures and slim ankles. The day of the short 
skirt was a grand time for them. They chuckled 
among themselves and made wicked comment. 
One saw only white-haired, placid, tremulous old 
men, but their minds still worked with belated 
masculinity like naughty small boys talking behind 
the barn. 

Old man Minick early achieved a certain 
leadership in the common talk. He had always 
liked to hold forth. This last year had been 
one of almost unendurable bottling up. At first 
he had timidly sought the less assertive ones of 
his kind. Mild old men who sat in rockers in the 
pavilion waiting for lunch time. Their conversa¬ 
tion irritated him. They remarked everything 
that passed before their eyes. 

‘‘There’s a boat. Fella with a boat.” 

A silence. Then, heavily: “Yeh.” 

Five minutes. 

“Look at those people laying on the grass. 
Shouldn’t think it was warm enough for that 
. . . Now they’re getting up.” 

A group of equestrians passed along the bridle 
path on the opposite side of the lagoon. They 

29 


OLD MAN MINICK 


made a frieze against the delicate spring green¬ 
ery. The coats of the women were scarlet, vivid 
green, arresting, stimulating. 

“Riders.” 

“Yes.” 

“Good weather for riding.” 

A man was fishing near by. “Good weather 
for fishing.” 

“Yes.” 

“Wonder what time it is, anyway.” From a 
pocket, deep-buried, came forth a great gold 
blob of a watch. “I’ve got one minute to 
eleven.” 

Old man Minick dragged forth a heavy globe. 
“Mm. I’ve got eleven.” 

“Little fast, I guess.” 

Old man Minick shook off this conversation im¬ 
patiently. This wasn’t conversation. This was 
oral death, though he did not put it thus. He 
joined the other men. They were discussing 
Spiritualism. He listened, ventured an opinion, 
was heard respectfully and then combated mer¬ 
cilessly. He rose to the verbal fight, and won it. 

“Let’s see,” said one of the old men. “You’re 
not living at the Grant Home, are you?” 

“No,” old man Minick made reply, proudly. 
“I live with my son and his wife. They wouldn’t 
have it any other way.” 

“Hm. Like to be independent myself.” 

“Lonesome, ain’t it? Over there?” 

“Lonesome! Say, Mr.—what’d you say 

your name was? Minick? Mine’s Hughes—I 

30 


OLD MAN MINICK 


never was lonesome in my life ’cept for six months 
when I lived with my daughter and her husband 
and their five children. Yes, sir. That’s what I 
call lonesome, in an eight-room flat.” 

George and Nettie said, “It’s doing you good, 
Father, being out in the air so much.” His eyes 
were brighter, his figure straighter, his colour 
better. It was that day he had held forth so 
eloquently on the emigration question. He had 
to read a lot—papers and magazines and one 
thing and another—to keep up. He devoured 
all the books and pamphlets about bond issues 
and national finances brought home by George. 
In the Park he was considered an authority on 
bonds and banking. He and a retired real 
estate man named Mowry sometimes debated a 
single question for weeks. George and Nettie, 
relieved, thought he ambled to the Park and spent 
senile hours with his drooling old friends dis¬ 
cussing nothing amiably and witlessly. This 
while he was eating strong meat, drinking strong 
drink. 

Summer sped. Was past. Autumn held a 
new dread for old man Minick. When winter 
came where should he go? Where should he 
go? Not back to the five-room flat all day, and 
the little back bedroom, and nothingness. In 
his mind there rang a childish old song they used 
to sing at school. A silly song: 

Where do all the birdies go? 

1 know. / know. 


3i 


OLD MAN MINICK 


But he didn’t know. He was terror-stricken. 
October came and went. With the first of 
November the Park became impossible, even at 
noon, and with two overcoats and the sweater. 
The first frost was a black frost for him. He 
scanned the heavens daily for rain or snow. 
There was a cigar store and billiard room on 
the corner across the boulevard and there he 
sometimes went, with a few of his Park cron¬ 
ies, to stand behind the players’ chairs and 
watch them at pinochle or rum. But this was a 
dull business. Besides, the Grant men never 
came there. They had card rooms of their 
own. 

He turned away from his smoky fittle den on 
a drab November day, sick at heart. The winter. 
He tried to face it, and at what he saw he 
shrank and was afraid. 

He reached the apartment and went around to 
the rear, dutifully. His rubbers were wet and 
muddy and Nettie’s living-room carpet was a 
fashionable grey. The back door was unlocked. 
It was Canary’s day downstairs, he remembered. 
He took off his rubbers in the kitchen and passed 
into the dining room. Voices. Nettie had com¬ 
pany. Some friends, probably, for tea. He 
turned to go to his room, but stopped at hearing 
his own name. Father Minick. Father Min- 
ick. Nettie’s voice. 

“Of course, if it weren’t for Father Minick I 
would have. But how can we as long as he lives 
with us? There isn’t room. And we can’t af- 


32 


OLD MAN MINICK 


ford a bigger place now, with rents what they are. 
This way it wouldn’t be fair to the child. We’ve 
talked it over, George and I. Don’t you sup¬ 
pose? But not as long as Father Minick is with 
us. I don’t mean we’d use the maid’s room for 
a—for the—if we had a baby. But I’d have to 
have some one in to help, then, and we’d have to 
have that extra room.” 

He stood there in the dining room, quiet. 
Quiet. His body felt queerly remote and numb, 
but his mind was working frenziedly. Clearly, 
too, in spite of the frenzy. Death. That was 
the first thought. Death. It would be easy. 
But he didn’t want to die. Strange, but he didn’t 
want to die. He liked Life. The Park, the 
trees, the Club, the talk, the whole show. . . . 
Nettie was a good girl . . . The old must make 
way for the young. They had the right to be 
born . . . Maybe it was just another excuse. 
Almost four years married. Why not three 
years ago? . . . The right to live. The right 
to live. . . . 

He turned, stealthily, stealthily, and went back 
into the kitchen, put on his rubbers, stole out 
into the darkening November afternoon. 

In an hour he was back. He entered at the 
front door this time, ringing the bell. He had 
never had a key. As if he were a child they 
would not trust him with one. Nettie’s women 
friends were just leaving. In the air you smelled 
a mingling of perfume, and tea, and cakes, and 
powder. He sniffed it, sensitively. 

33 


OLD MAN MINICK 


“How do you do, Mr. MinickI” they said. 
“How are you! Well, you certainly look 
it. And how do you manage these gloomy 
days?” 

He smiled genially, taking off his greatcoat 
and revealing the red sweater with the big white 
“C” on it. “I manage. I manage.” He puffed 
out his cheeks. “I’m busy moving.” 

“Moving!” Nettie’s startled eyes flew to his, 
held them. “Moving, Father?” 

“Old folks must make way for the young,” he 
said, gaily. “That’s the law of life. Yes, sir! 
New ones. New ones.” 

Nettie’s face was scarlet. “Father, what in 
the world-” 

“I signed over at the Grant Home to-day. 
Move in next week.” The women looked at her, 
smiling. Old man Minick came over to her and 
patted her plump arm. Then he pinched her 
smooth cheek with a quizzical thumb and 
forefinger. Pinched it and shook it ever so 
little. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Nettie, 
out of breath. 

“Yes, you do,” said old man Minick, and 
while his tone was light and jesting there was in 
his old face something stern, something menac¬ 
ing. “Yes, you do.” 

When he entered the Grant Home a group of 
them was seated about the fireplace in the main 
hall. A neat, ruddy, septuagenarian circle. 

34 



OLD MAN MINICK 


They greeted him casually, with delicacy of feel¬ 
ing, as if he were merely approaching them at 
their bench in the Park. 

“Say, Minick, look here. Mowry here says 
China ought to have been included in the four- 
power treaty. He says-” 

Old man Minick cleared his throat. “You 
take China, now,” he said, “with her vast and 
practically, you might say, virgin country, 
why-” 

An apple-cheeked maid in a black dress and a 
white apron stopped before him. He paused. 

“Housekeeper says for me to tell you your 
room’s all ready, if you’d like to look at it now.” 

“Minute. Minute, my child.” He waved 
her aside with the air of one who pays five hun¬ 
dred a year for independence and freedom. The 
girl turned to go. “Uh—young lady! Young 
lady!” She looked at him. “Tell the house¬ 
keeper two pillows, please. Two pillows on my 
bed. Be sure.” 

“Yes, sir. Two pillows. Yes, sir. I’ll be 
sure.” 


35 





THE PLAY: 
MINICK 

by 

EDNA FERBER 
and 

GEORGE S. KAUFMAN 
































/ 


















> 






-r 










ACT I 























* 










































































TIME 

SCENE 


MINICK 

ACT I 


The present. 

The living room of Fred and Nettie 
Minick’s apartment at $218 South Park 
Avenue, Chicago. 

The building in which the Minicks live is 
one of those six-flat apartment houses 
(three apartments on each side) com¬ 
monly seen in Chicago. South Park Ave¬ 
nue is a middle-class neighbourhood on 
Chicago’s south side and faces Washing¬ 
ton Park directly across the street. The 
Minicks live on the second floor and from 
their living-room windows one gets a 
pleasant sense of space, with perhaps a 
glimpse of tree-tops visible. The apart¬ 
ment consists of living room, dining room, 
kitchen, bedroom, and maid’s bedroom. 

It is, primarily, the living room that you 
see, but you can look into the dining room 
at your right through a large double 
doorway off the living room. You can 
also look well down the passage at the 

39 


MINICK 


right, so that people coming and going in 
this passage are easily seen. From this 
passage open the doors to bedrooms, bath¬ 
room, and kitchen. The apartment's 
outer door is at the left. You see only 
the small hallway, with a glimpse of wall 
mirror, hall chair, and bracket light. 

The living room is modern, gay, lamp- 
lighted. A little too modern, perhaps. 
At any rate, Old Man Minick is some¬ 
what bewildered by it. It represents a 
middle-class attempt at a “different” 
room. A bay window, bright with cre¬ 
tonne hangings, overlooks the Park. 
Just next this Nettie y s desk, very official 
looking with its neat pigeonholes, its card 
index, files, pads, notebooks, papers. It 
is the desk of the busy and capable club 
woman who takes her club work seriously. 
The telephone, too, is on this desk. Bay 
window and desk are at the right of the 
hall doortuay. At the left is a well-filled 
book-case, on the top shelf of which are 
a clock and twin glass vases. At the 
right, and coming well down into the 
room, is a large table of the library type. 
On it are books, a lamp, a cigarette box, 
flowers. 

There is no one on the stage as the curtain 
rises. From the dining room comes the 
sound of silverware being dumped into a 

40 


ACT I 

drawer with increasing vehemence. Then 
the drawer is slammed shut with decision. 
Annie is seen to go through the passage 
into the kitchen y and the sound of womens 
voices are heard from the passage. The 
clock on the mantel strikes once. It is 
half-past seven in the evening. 

Lil y s voice y growing clearer as she ap¬ 
proaches the passage door f is heard be¬ 
fore she enters. 

Lil 

(Enters and calls back:) 

. . . I’ll tell you what we’ll do then. I’ll read 
the names off if you want to check them and we 
can see how many we have on each of the—where 
did you say it was? 

Nettie 

(Far off) 

What? 

Lil 

(Crossing to desk) 

Where’s the committee list? 

Nettie 

(Far off) 

I don’t hear you, Lil. 

Lil 

What? 

4i 


MINICK 


Nettie 

What did you say? 

Lil 

Oh, never mind. I’ll find it. 

(Goes to desk and searches about in it. 
Nettie enters from passage carrying a 
folded card table.) 

Nettie 

What did you say, Lil? 

Lil 

The committee list. Where did you say it 
was? 

Nettie 

In the third pile under the school list. 

(Starts to set up card table.) 

Lil 

Well, I don’t ... oh, yes. Here it is. 
You’re wonderful, Net—you ought to see my 
desk. 

Nettie 

If I didn’t keep everything in its place in that 
desk I’d be swamped. It’s the one piece of 
furniture in the flat that I won’t let Fred use. 

Lil 

I wish I could keep Jim away from mine. It’s 
42 


ACT I 


always stuffed full of old golf scores, decks of 
cards, and pipe cleaners. 

(Carrying papers to card table.) 

Nettie 

(By now she has set up the table. She 
pulls up a chair; speaking as she settles 
herself.) 

Train him. Come on. We can get some of 
this done. 

Lil 

(A glance at the clock; getting desk chair, 
she too } settles to work.) 

It’s half-past seven already, Net. His train’s 
in. 

Nettie 

Well, it takes twenty-five minutes to get up on 
the L. 

(There is a bang from the kitchen; Nettie 
shakes her head.) 

Again! 

Lil 

If I were you I’d speak to her. 

Nettie 

She knows she’s got me. 

Lil 

She’d never do that in my house. 

43 


MINICK 


{She notices the card table for the first 
time .) 

Oh, you did get a new one after all. 

Nettie 

What? Oh—card table. Yes, once they be¬ 
gin to go . . . 

{She is evidently thinking of something 
else.) ** 

Let’s see. South side . . . 

{She is ranging papers in piles.) 
Here’s Mrs. Loper’s. 

Lil 

We’ll only have to stop in the middle of this. 
Nettie 

They won’t be here for another twenty minutes. 
Lil 

Jim will. He said he’d be up right after 
dinner. 

Nettie 

He was foolish not to come for dinner, Lil. 
Lil 

Well, he wanted to see this man anyhow*, so he 
thought he might as well take dinner with him. 

Nettie 

{All her attention on her work now.) 

Now, then. There are two hundred and sixty- 

44 


ACT I 


four school houses in Chicago. We should be 
able to throw open at least twenty by, say, the 
middle of May. That gives us two months. 
Then we’ll . . . 

Lil 

Well, now, you want to do what? Divide the 
work according to districts first? 

(.Sounds of slamming and banging from 
the back of the apartment. The two 
women Ipok at each other.) 

Nettie 

She is in a vile temper. After all, Lil, I sup¬ 
pose it’s annoying to be made to get out of your 
room on such short notice. 

Lil 

What time did he telegraph? 

Nettie 

I got it at five. I don’t know why he changed 
his mind and came to-day instead of Monday. 
Of course, when I told Annie she’d have to clean 
out her room and pack her things right away— 


You don’t think she’ll leave, do you? 

Nettie 

I did at first. Of course, we’re paying her two 
dollars more a week—she’s going to sleep at her 

45 


MINICK 


married sister’s. You know—that Emma who 
sometimes comes in to help serve. 

{A sigh.) 

Oh, well, I hope it’ll work out all right. 

Lil 

Net, I’m the last person in the world to want 
to discourage you, but it’s going to make an aw¬ 
ful difference in your household. An old man is 
an old man. 

Nettie 

I know. But he’s really a dear. And after 
all, he’s Fred’s father. 

Lie 

Why couldn’t he stay down in Bloomington 
where he knows everybody? He could get a 
housekeeper. 

Nettie 

Lil—he couldn’t. 

Lil 

Why not ? 

Nettie 

Now, Lil, I’m telling this to you and nobody 
else. What Father Minick has left will bring 
him a few hundred a year, and that’s all. 

Lil 

Really! Why, I thought he had- 

46 



ACT I 

Nettie 

Yes, so did we. But Mother Minick was sick 
for almost three years, and you know what that 
means, with^operations. If Father Minick had 
only stayed in his own business. But no, he had 
to put every cent into that automobile thing and 
—gone. At his time of life! 

Lil 

My dear! Then- 

{She stops as the clatter of a clothes-horse 
is heard. There is an instant of silence 
and Annie appears in the passage door¬ 
way, clothes-horse in hand.) 


Nettie 

{As Annie stands, belligerent) 

What is it, Annie? 

Annie 

I always kept the clothes-horse in my room 
back of the door. Where do you want it to go 
now? 

Nettie 

Can’t you keep it in the basement? 

Annie 

I can’t be lugging it up all the time. I iron up 
here. 

Nettie 

Keep it in the kitchen. 


47 



MINICK 


Annie 

I got the ironing board back of the door 
already. And the carpet sweeper. 

Lil 

How about the back porch? 

Nettie 


( Eagerly) 

Yes! 

Annie 

With the smoke and the dirt from the alley! 


Lil 

Leave it where it is. 

Nettie 

Oh, Lil, I can’t have a clothes-horse in Father 
Minick’s bedroom. 

Lil 

(With an I-told-you-so air) 

Well—there you are. 

Nettie 

Put it—put it in the dining room, Annie, just 
for to-night, and I’ll find a place for it in the 
morning. 

Annie 

( Grimly) 

The flat won’t be any bigger in the morning. 


ACT I 


(Flounces into dining room; the clothes- 
horse clatters into place; the two women 
look at each other, meaningly. Annie 
emerges from dining room through the 
swinging door to passage and kitchen. 
There's a whish-whoosh of the door at the 
vehemence of her exit.) 

Lil 

I give her a week. 

Nettie 

Lil, don’t say that! She’s such a wonderful 
cook and goes right ahead with her work. I 
don’t do a thing but the marketing. 

(Rises and goes to desk, gets card cat¬ 
alogue and returns to table.) 

Where were we? 

{Reads:) 

Kenwood school. 

Lil 

Did she make that what’s-its-name we had for 
supper? 

Nettie 

It was good, wasn’t it? I never can have it 
when Fred’s home. You know the way men are. 
Meat and potatoes—that’s Fred. 

Lil 

Jim’s the same way. Steak seven times a 
week, if I’d give it to him. 

49 


MINICK 

Nettie 

Fred, too. I’ll bet that downtown to-night he 
ordered exactly what he’d have at home. 

Lil 

IVe been married to Jim Corey four years. 
And every time we go out with the crowd on 
Saturday night and I order lobster salad, because 
it makes me feel I’m out— you know—Jim says, 
“Why don’t you take something sensible? You 
know lobster means bicarb.” 

Nettie 

(Busy with her cards) 

Englewood. Normal school, high school- 

Lil 

Daisy was saying only yesterday that she and 
George always- 

(The telephone rings.) 

Nettie 

(Indicating her lapful of cards, etc.) 

Lil, answer it, will you? It may be Jim for 


Jim wouldn’t be ’phoning. He’ll be here 
almost any- 

(Dies out. At telephone. Both sides of 
this telephone conversation can he heard 

5° 





ACT I 


by the audience. That is, the voice at the 
other end actually sounds in a squawking 
tone and the words can just be made out. 
The general effect of this telephone talk, 
with Nettie “putting in” occasionally, is 
of confusion.) 

Hello! 

Daisy’s Voice 

Drexel 4269? 

Lil 

Yes. 

Daisy’s Voice 

Nettie? 

Lil 

No, this isn’t Mrs. Minick. I’ll- 

Nettie 

Who is it, Lil? 

Daisy’s Voice 

Is she there? 

Lil 

Yes, she’s here. I just answered for- 


Daisy’s Voice 

This is Daisy. 

Nettie 


Who is it? 


51 


MINICK 

Lil 


Who? 

Daisy’s Voice 

This is Daisy. 

Lil 

( Laughs ) 

Isn’t that weird! 

(Turns to Nettie. Repeats.) 
Isn’t that weird! It’s Daisy. 

(Talks in } phone again.) 
Isn’t that weird! I had your name on my lips 
this very minute. 


Daisy’s Voice 
Sounds like Lil. 

Lil 

Yes, Lil. I had dinner here at Nettie’s. 
Jim’s downtown. 

Nettie 

What’s she want? 

Daisy’s Voice 

Are you going to meet him downtown? 

Lil 

No, he’s going to call for me here. 

52 


ACT I 


Daisy’s Voice 
If Nettie’s busy I . . . 

Nettie 

If it’s about the crowd, we can’t go. 
Lil 

( Interrupts) 

No, she . . . 


Daisy’s Voice 
( Interrupts) 

I just wanted to be sure that she and Fred 
knew about to-night. 


Lil 

Yes, she- 


Daisy’s Voice 
( Interrupts) 

She knows about Bloom’s, doesn’t she? 


Well, she . . . 


Lil 


Nettie 

Tell her Fred and I can’t possibly go out to¬ 
night. I wouldn’t leave Father Minick. 

53 



MINICK 


Daisy’s Voice 

George has found a new place where 
you can get practically anything you want 
and he says the food is delicious too. 
They make a specialty of sea food and 
they say they ship it fresh from New 
York. Besides it’s our anniversary and I 
think it’s mean of Nettie- 


Nettie 

Tell her Fred’s father’s coming to live 
with us and he’ll feel strange here and I 
don’t think it would be right to leave him 
the very first night. He’s an old man and 
I know how Fred would feel about it 
and- 


Lil 

Fred’s father’s coming to live with 
them, you know, and I suppose they feel 
it wouldn’t be right to leave him the very 
first night. It’s too bad. Because it’s 
your anniversary and I know you counted 

on having the whole crowd together- 

(Breaks off in desperation.) 

Oh, my goodness, I can’t hear a thing! 
Wait a minute! 

{To Nettie.) 

Wait a minute! 

54 






ACT I 


Nettie 

( Rising) 

Here, let me talk to her. I’ll talk to her. 

(Goes to ’phone.) 

Lil 

Wait a minute. She wants to talk to you. 

(Lil leaves the ’phone as Nettie takes it. 
At the same time Annie enters from pas¬ 
sage. Annie has a grey woollen bed 
blanket in her arms.) 

TOGETHER 

Nettie Annie 

(In telephone) What blankets do 
Hello, Daisy! I’m you want on his bed? 
terribly sorry, but we 
can’t possibly-— 

TOGETHER 

Nettie Annie 

—go out to-night. I say, what blankets 
Fred’s father’s coming, do you want on his bed? 
and you know- 

Nettie 

If it was any other- 

Annie 


I say, what- 


55 





MINICK 


Nettie 

What, Annie? Wait a minute, Daisy. What 
is it, Annie? 

Annie 

I’m making up his bed. What blankets do 
you want on it 

(Nettie turns to Annie. As she does so 
the audience can hear Daisy’s voice in a 
flood of protest.) 

Daisy’s Voice 

If you and Fred don’t come to-night I’ll 
never forgive you. It’s George’s and my an¬ 
niversary and you know it. Everybody else in 
the crowd is coming. 

Nettie 

(All the while talking to Annie) 

Take one of the spare ones packed away on the 
top shelf in the hall closet. You’d better take 
two. An old man. Fold up yours and we’ll air 
them to-morrow on the line before we pack them 
away. 

{In ’phone.) 

I was just telling Annie about the blankets. 

SIMULTANEOUSLY 

Annie Nettie 

Packed where? {Into ’phone) 

Blanket s—never 
mind. Nothing. I 
was just . . . 


ACT I 


Lil 

(Talks across 
couch to An¬ 
nie. ) 

Mrs. Minick says to 
take one of the spare 
ones from the top shelf 
in the hall closet. 

Annie 

I got to get up on a 
chair. 

Lil 

(To Annie) 

And did you hear the 
rest of it? To fold 
up yours and they’ll be 
aired to-morrow. 


Daisy’s Voice 

Now, listen, Nettie, 
you and Fred simply 
must come to-night. 

Nettie 

Daisy, you know per¬ 
fectly well I never miss 
one of the crowd’s Sat¬ 
urday nights unless it’s 
simply unavoidable. 


Daisy’s Voice 

When’s he coming— 
the old man? 


Annie 

To-morrow! What else all’s going to be done 
to-morrow and it’s Sunday! 

(Exits to passage.) 


Nettie 

I’m expecting him any minute now. Fred’s 
bringing him up from the station. 

(Jim rings the doorbell.) 


57 


MINICK 

Lil 


I’ll go. 

(Goes to outer hallway .) 
Daisy’s Voice 

Well, when Fred comes I want to talk to him. 
I think it’s an outrage. 

Nettie 

But, Daisy, you know I’m dying to go. 

Jim 

(In hallway) 

Hello, there, kiddy! 

Nettie 

(An ear on the door) 

I’ve got to hang up now. Here’s Jim! Well, 
call Fred later, Daisy. I’ve got to go now. 

(She hangs up as Jim and Lil enter from 
the hall , his arm around her shoul¬ 
der.) 

She’s awfully unreasonable about this, Lil. 

Jim 

What’s the trouble? 

Nettie 

Oh, hello, Jim! It’s nothing! Daisy’s so un- 


ACT I 


reasonable. She ought to know that with Father 
Minick coming- 

Jim 

Hasn’t got here yet, eh? 

Nettie 

Fred’s meeting him. They’re due now. 

Jim 

Say, look here. I was thinking, Lil and I 
oughtn’t to be here. You don’t want a lot of 
people around when he comes. 

Nettie 

Nonsense! It’ll be nice to have things lively. 
He and Fred will have had their talk on the way 
up from the station. 

Lil 

Now, Net, don’t hesitate if you’d rather- 

Nettie 

No. Really. Marge and A 1 are coming in 
later, anyway. They’ll pick you up. 

Jim 

(Takes of his coat and hat and tosses 
them on hall chair.) 

Well, all right. 


59 



MINICK 

Lil 

(Goes to card table.) 

I suppose we might as well put these away, 
h’m? 

(Net and Lil make trips from card table 
to desk, putting away cards and papers.) 

Nettie 

We didn’t get much done, did we? 

Jim 

My gosh! What’s all that? 

{Picks up some papers from the card 
table. Lil takes them from him.) 

Nettie 

Don’t mix them, whatever you do. 

Jim 

Club stuff again? 


Lil 

{A trifle belligerently) 

Yes, it is. 

Jim 

What are you trying to do, anyhow? Fix the 
world ? 


Lil 

Jim, even if you don’t understand it, you must 
60 


ACT I 

admit that three thousand intelligent women 
banded together- 

Nettie 

As a matter of fact, the Woman’s Civic Aid 
numbers over three thousand. 

Jim 

All right. I’m not saying anything against 
it. Only I don’t understand just what you’re 
driving at. 

Nettie 

We’re trying to do a real welfare work. 
We’re going to bring parents and children— 
especially foreign-born ones—closer together—■ 
at least my committee is. 

(Lil is at table.) 
Lil 

We’re giving a series of Saturday night get- 
togethers in the school houses. 

(Returns to desk.) 

Nettie 

Here are all these school houses lying idle 
every week-end. Now, why can’t they be used 
for community gatherings? 

{Lil and Nettie finish placing the last neat 
pile of papers on the desk.) 

Jim 

All right. But I could run Sears-Roebuck with 
less paper. 


61 



MINICK 


Nettie 

(Giving him a quick glance) 

Why’d you say Sears-Roebuck? 

Jim 

Huh? Why, I don’t know—I-— 

Nettie 

Now, Jim. If you and Fred are still thinking 
about that mail-order scheme- 

Lil 

After all Net and IVe said! 

Jim 

Good heavens, no! 

(In the 'way he gesticulates and walks 
away you gather that he has been nagged 
a good deal on this.) 

Nettie 

Because Fred and I have been all over it and 
he knows the way I feel about it. I don’t think 
either of you ought to give up good positions- 

Lil 

(Faces him directly. Looks him in the 
eye.) 

Jim! You’re not still thinking about it, are 
you? 


62 





ACT I 


Jim 

(Looks at clock,) 
No, I tell you! They’re late, aren’t they? 
Fred and- 

Lil 

Because if I thought you were! 

Jim 

( Desperately) 

Lil, for God’s sake! 

(Breaks off.) 

Suppose I ’phone down and see if the train’s 
in. Maybe it’s late. 

(Sits at desk.) 

Nettie 

I wish you would. They ought to be here. 

Jim 

What’s he coming on? What road, I mean? 


Nettie 

Chicago & Alton. From Bloomington. 
Jim 

(Turning leaves of telephone hook 7 ) 
Bloomington, huh? 

Lil 

I suppose he’s had his dinner? 

63 



MINICK 


Nettie 

Oh, he’ll eat on the train, of course. Alton 
Limited—there’s a diner. 

Jim 

{With telephone book) 

Chicago—Chicago—Chicago Alton Railroad. 
{Nettie goes into dining room, gets glass 
of water and pours it over bowl of roses 
on table.) 

General and Executive offices—Division Ac¬ 
countant—Pullman Reservations—Lost Articles 
—Freight Traffic Department—Baggage Room 
—Inf—Here it is! Information ! 

{Removes receiver.) 

Franklin 6700. . . . 

Nettie 

{In a half whisper to Lil, indicates Annie 
in rear of apartment.) 

I’m going to see what she’s doing. 

{Tiptoes to passage doorway. Lil rises 
and follows her.) 

Jim 

{To Nettie) 

So the old gentleman’s coming to live with you, 

huh? Quite an undertaking. Quite an- 

Franklin 6700. 

{Nettie, who has been peering and listen¬ 
ing at the passage door, from which she 
can see into the kitchen, turns, and speaks 
64 



ACT I 


to Lil in pantomime, moving her Ups. 
“I don’t see her in the kitchen. I guess 
she’s in her room.”) 

Huh? 


Lil 

Never mind, Jim. 

Nettie 

(Sotto voce to Lil) 

She’s in there half the time, sitting down. 
Jim 

What’s going on? 

Lil 

(Nettie is hack again.)) 

Oh, never mind! 


Jim 

What’s all the fussing about? 

Lil 

(Irritated) 

Oh, Jim! 


Jim 


Well- 

(In ’phone.) 

Hello! Hello! 

(Turns again to Nettie.) 
How old is he, anyway? 

65 



MINICK 


What? 


Nettie 


Jim 

How old is the old gentleman? 


Father Minick? 
Yes, seventy-one. 


Nettie 

He’s seventy-one. 

( Considers .) 


Lil 


My! H’m. 

Jim 

Hello! Say, listen. They must answer, it’s 
the Chicago & Alton Railway station. 

{To Nettie again.) 

Seventy-one, huh? Well, you know what the 
Bible says. Three score and ten. 

Nettie 

I hope Father Minick will live to be with us 
for many, many years. 

Jim 

Sure. Sure. But we’ve all got to go some— 
Hello! 

Lil 

Well, Net, I hope it turns out all right. Of 
course, if it were an old lady it’d be different. 

66 


ACT I 


Laura Taylor’s mother-in-law lives with them and 
putters around. Hems curtains, takes a hand in 
the cooking and fusses around her bedroom. 
But an old man with nothing to do! 

Jim 

Hello! Information! Hello! 

(The sound of the outer door slamming. 
Fred } s familiar whistle that always an - 
nounces his homecoming.) 

Nettie 

Here they are! 

Jim 

Oh! 

(Hangs up receiver and rises. Fred 
enters } carrying Minick! s bag.) 

Fred 

Hello! Here he is! 

(Pops back into hall and draws Minick 
forward. Old Man Minick enters. He 
is smiling a little uncertainly, blinking a 
little what with the light and the strange 
faces that greet him; but he is jaunty 
enough.) 

Nettie 

(Goes to Minick.) 

Well, Father Minick! 

(Kisses him.) 


67 


MINICK 

I’m awfully glad to see you! How are you? 
All right? 

Minick 

You bet! 

(Pinches her cheek.) 
You’re looking pretty fine, Nettie! 

Nettie 

Here—give me your coat. Fred, you know 
where the bag goes. 


Minick 

Now, don’t you wait on me. I can take care 
of myself, fine. 

Fred 

(To Jim and Lit, who are standing hack 
a hit.) 

Well, this is nice! Hello! H’are you! 

(Puts down Minick!s hag y goes into hall 
to leave his hat and coat. He is smiling 
at the cordiality of Nettie’s greeting to 
his father.) 

Jim and Lil 

Hello! 


Nettie 

Father, this is Mr. and Mrs. Corey. Friends 
of ours. 


68 


ACT I 


Lil 

How do you do, Mr. Minick? 

Jim 

H’are you! 


Nettie 

Well, Father, take off your coat. You’re go¬ 
ing to stay a while, you know. 

Minick 

(Starts to take off his coat, shunning her 
aid. Encounters Jim, who in turn has 
stepped forward to assist him. To 
Nettie.) 

All right. 

(To Jim.) 

Never mind! I can do it! 

(He takes off his coat unaided, tosses it 
and his hat on desk chair. Bringing his 
hands together with a clap he rubs them 
briskly. He f s at home.) 

Well! Certainly got a nice place here. H’m. 

Fred 

(Re-entering from hall.) 

Like it? 


Nettie 

Well, Father, are you tired from your trip? 

69 


MINICK 


Minick 

Me? No—takes more’n a train trip to tire 
me. Yes, sir! 

(Telephone rings; Fred answers it.) 
—more’n a train trip to tire me- 

Fred 

Hello! What? Why, no . . . I don’t think 
—wait a minute. 

{To the others.) 

Does anybody want the Chicago & Alton? 

Jim 

No! 


Nettie 


Oh, that was long ago. 


Fred 

{In telephone) 

No! 

{Hangs up.) 
Lil 

{To Minick) 

I guess your train was a little late, wasn’t it? 


Ma’am? 


Minick 


Lil 

{Loudly, in his ear) 

Wasn’t your train a little late? 


70 



ACT I 


Minick 


Nope. Right on time. To the dot. 

{Nettie takes Minick’s coat and hat from 
the chair and goes into hall with them. 
{Fred goes off into the passage with Min¬ 
ick’s straw suit case.) 

About ten seconds late pulling into Pontiac, but 
made it up between there and Dwight. Pulled 
into Dwight at five forty-seven; pulled into 
Joliet at six forty-five; pulled into Halsted Street 
Station at seven-twenty sharp; pulled out of Hal¬ 
sted Street Station at- 

Nettie 

{Returning from hall. Takes his arm 
gently.) 

Now, Father. You’ll want to see your room. 
Minick 

{Looking around room) 

All right, Nettie. A-a-a-all right! If it’s 
half as nice as this, it’ll certainly be nice. Yessir! 
You’ve certainly got it fixed up nice out here. 
Ver-y tasty! Yessir! I like a little more light, 
myself, but these lamps are all the go now, seems. 

Nettie 


Come, Father. 

Minick 

All right. Yessir! All the go since I was 
here- 


{To Lil.) 






MINICK 


I haven’t been to Chicago since before Ma took 
sick. Used to come pretty regular. 

Lil 

( Politely, and in the raised voice she re¬ 
serves for the old.) 

Is that so? Quite a while, is it? 

Minick 

Well, quite a while, yes. One—two—let’s 
see. 

(Preparing for a long story, he turns desk 
chair to face them and sits there.) 

Ma took sick second week in August almost 
three years ago. August eleventh, it was. Com¬ 
plained of a pain right here. “Go to a doctor,” 
I says. “Don’t tell me about.it! Go see Mat¬ 
thews,” I said, “or have him come here.” Had 
to talk to her like that. Rather suffer than go 
to a doctor. Scared. Well, finally, I got her to 
go. Come home talking kind of gay, and said 
Matthews said it was nothing, but I smelled a 
rat right away. Yessir. Minute I heard X-rays 
I said to Ma—“Ma,” I said—“you can’t fool 


Jim 

Terrible thing, sickness. 

Minick 

Anything but sickness, I always say. Any 
72 



ACT I 

other kind of trouble, yes. But you take sick¬ 
ness— 


Nettie 

Now, Father Minick, come along. I want you 
to make yourself at home here. 

Minick 

All right. Got some things in my trunk for 
you, Nettie. Ma’s things. Tell you what else 
I got, too. You know that last picture she had 
taken, before she took sick? Well, I had an en¬ 
largement made— 

(Indicates its size.) 
that’ll go right over your bookcase there, slick 
as anything. 

(Exits into passage, Nettie following.) 
It’s got a handsome gold frame on it, about four 
inches wide. 


Fred 

{Enters from passage.) 

Isn’t Dad a wonder for his age? 

TOGETHER 

Lil Jim 

Certainly is. Fine old boy. 


Lil 

Do you think there is anything I can do for 
Nettie? 


73 


MINICK 


Fred 

No, she’ll be right in. There’s nothing to do. 

(The clock strikes eight.) 

Lil 

My! It’s eight o’clock. Marge and A1 ought 
to be here. 

Jim 

(To Fred) 

I guess you and Nettie won’t be able to get 
away, h’m ? 

Fred 

Well, no. I’m afraid .not to-night. 

Jim 

Still, he might turn in early. Even if you came 
a little late, why- 

Minick 

(Enters from passage, followed hy 
Nettie.) 

Yessir! Very nice! 

(Goes to Fred.) 

Fred 

Well, Dad! 

(Puts his hand on Minick!s shoulder.) 
74 



ACT I 


Nettie 

(Sits on the couch and invites Minick to 
sit beside her.) 

Now, you sit down, Father, and have a nice 
visit with us. 


Lil 

Are you all fixed up, Mr. Minick? 

(Her voice is raised as though speaking 
to some one deaf.) 


Minick 


{Raising his voice, imitating hers f in re¬ 
proof.) 

Yes, ma’am- 


I am. 


{Then whispers.) 


Nettie 

{Hastily) 

I was just saying to Father Minick I wish we 
had a big front bedroom for him. I’d gladly 
give him ours, and we’d move back there, only 
that room’s too small for twin beds and the 
dresser and Fred’s chiffo-robe and all. 


Minick 

That room’s fine. Good enough for anybody. 
Nettie 

You wait till I get the cretonne slips made. 

75 



MINICK 

And I’ll have a little reading lamp for you and 
an easy chair. 

Minick 

That’s fine—fine! Just one thing I noticed, 
though. I wonder if you could spare me another 
pillow. You see, I sleep high, and if- 

Nettie 

Why, of course. Now if there’s anything 
else you want- 

Minick 

No, no—everything’s fine. 

(About to seat himself in a very feminine 
looking silk chair y stops and feels the 
fabric appraisingly.) 

I’ll be out here most the time, anyway. H’m! 
Silk! 

Jim 

Well, sir, how do you think you’re going to 
like little old Chicago? 

Minick 

(Crosses his legs so that you see the soft- 
toed shoes and a goodly section of 
wrinkled brown sock.) 

Chicago? I like Chicago first rate. Say, I 
knew Chicago before any of you young sprats 
were born. Why, you know where the Green- 
abaum Bank stands, Lasalle and Monroe- 

7 6 





ACT I 


Fred 

LaSalle and Madison, Father. 

Minick 

That’s what I said. Why LaSalle Street 
wasn’t anything, time I was your age. Wooden 
sidewalks and mud up to here. 

(Thrusts out one foot.) 
You could have bought that ground for a song. 

Fred 

I always say if anybody had been a good singer 
in 1875, he’d own Chicago now. 

(Sits on the couch beside Nettie.) 

Minick 

( Bewildered) 

Singer? 

Nettie 

Don’t pay any attention to him, Father Min¬ 
ick. Fred’s just trying to be funny. 

Minick 

Singer? Oh, singer—you mean—say, that’s 

a good one! Anybody’d been a good singer- 

( Laughs. Jim lights cigar which he has 
taken from his pocket.) 

Jim 

{Rising and going to Minick, taking 

11 



MINICK 


another cigar from his vest pocket.) 
Have a cigar, Mr. Minick? 

Minick 

(Takes it) 

Thanks. 


Jim 

Light? 

Minick 

After supper. I never smoke before I eat. 

(Consternation on Nettie y s face. One 
of those looks between her and Lil and 
between her and Fred.) 

Nettie 

You didn’t eat on the train, Father? 

Minick 

Never eat train food if I can help it. Don’t 
like it, and anyway costs like all get out. Bread 
and butter extra. Piece of parsley on a platter, 
and where’s your dollar? 

{Puts cigar in his pocket.) 


Fred 


Why, Father, if I’d known we’d have stopped 
downtown. 


{Nettie rises.) 


Nettie* 


78 



ACT I 


Nettie 

I’ll get you something right away. 

Lil 

Let me help. 

Nettie 

Will you, Lil? I don’t want to ask Annie. 
Minick 

Now don’t you girls fuss. Just anything you 
got in the house. Don’t you bother for me. 

{Lil goes into the dining room and on 
into the kitchen.) 

Nettie 

{Turning in dining-room door) 

I’m afraid there isn’t much, Father. We had 
a kind of pick-up dinner, with Fred downtown. 

Minick 

It’s all right. I’m a light eater myself. Little 
soup. Cold meat, and a couple of eggs. 

Nettie 

{Rather feebly, as she exits) 

Ah—yes- 

Minick 

{Starts on a tour of inspection around 
the room.) 

Nettie certainly looks fine. Fine. I don’t 

79 



MINICK 


know that I ever saw her look better. Hand¬ 
some girl, Nettie. 

(Peers into hallway, and then turns—to 
Jim.) 

Your wife ain’t bad looking. No, sir. 

(Drifts up to window. A smile between 
Jim and Fred.) 


Jim 

(To Fred) 

Well, what do you know? 

Fred 

Oh, nothing in particular. And you? 

Jim 

About the same. 

(Minick is peering out the window trying 
to see the lay of the land in the darkness 
outside.) 

Minick 

H’m! Trees out there? 

Fred 

That’s the park, Father. Washington Park. 
Minick 

Don’t say! 

Jim 

I got some more figures to-day. Bradley- 

80 



ACT I 


(Takes a card out of his pocket and hands 
it to Fred.) 


Yeh? 


Fred 


Jim 

The kind of list we want would cost us close 
to five thousand. 


Fred 

(A whistle of astonishment.) 
Phew! Steep! 


Minick 

What floor’r we on? 

Fred 

(Not turning) 

The second, Dad. 


Minick 

H’m! Well! 


Jim 

Of course, I don’t suppose we can ever really 
go ahead, with both the girls fighting us on it. 

Fred 

Nettie blows up every time I mention it. 

{Minick turns and edges over to them.) 

81 


MINICK 


Jim 

So does Lil. They began it to-night. Jumped 
on me, both of them. 

Fred 

You mean they brought it up? 

Jim 

I forget how it came up, but- 

Minick 

{He has lost interest in the window.) 

What are you two boys talking about? 
Business? 

Fred 

Oh, nothing in particular, Dad. I tell you, 
Jim, this is the time to start. Two or three 
houses have got it all to-day. 

Minick 

What you going to do? New business? 

Fred 

Five years ago I’d have said no, but things 
are getting back to where they were before the 
war. 

Minick 

Now, Fred, I don’t want you risking a lot of 
82 



ACT I 


money in any new business. You got a good job, 
and let somebody else do the worrying. 

Fred 

Please, Father. We’re not- 

Minick 

That’s all right. But you know the way you 
are. What kind of business is it, anyway? 
Something new-fangled ? 

Fred 

No, Father. It’s the mail-order business. 
Nothing to get excited about. 

Minick 

Well, sir, you go careful. That don’t strike 
me like anything for a couple of young fellows. 
Probably go to work and lose everything you 
got. And I’ll tell you why. 

(Gets desk chair f puts it near them and 
sits .) 

What’s your mail-order business depend on? 
Fred 

All right, Dad. 

Minick 

(Using the top of the open card table as 
a sort of map.) 

Depends on your little towns. All right, sir. 

83 



MINICK 


Take your little towns. Take Bloomington. 
There’s a town set right down in the middle of 
the richest farming country in Illinois. And 
what’s happened to her! Your farmer to-day is 
strapped. What’s he getting for his wheat? 
What’s he getting for his corn? And whose 
fault is it? I tell you till Europe gets on her 
feet we might just as well all mark time over 
here, and lucky we’re not going backwards. A 
growing country like this has got to have out¬ 
lets or where is she? You take any one of those 
countries over there to-day—you take Poland, 
you take Rooshia, you take -Czecho—uh—take 
Roumania,- 

Fred 

Oh, Father. We’re only talking. 

Minick 

Well, I’ve been through it and I know. If 
I’d waited a couple of years till things was more 
settled, I’d be a rich man to-day with that auto¬ 
mobile tire. 

Fred 

But this is quite another thing, Dad. You 
don’t understand. 

Minick 

{As Nettie enters from passage carrying 
tray, followed by Lil with lunch cloth.) 

It’s a new business, ain’t it? And you’re talk¬ 
ing about going into it? 

84 



ACT I 


Nettie 


(Stops) 

Oh, is he? Well, there isn’t going to be any 
new business, and don’t you forget it! 


Fred 

All right! 


Lil 

(As she crosses to the card table and lays 
the cloth.) 

The minute you two get together- 

Minick 

(Peering hungrily at the tray) 

That looks good. 


Nettie 

(Placing the tray on the card table) 

I brought it right in here, Father, so you can 
visit with us while you eat. 


Minick 

Well, I didn’t want you to go to any bother. 

(Picks up a dish.) 

What’s this? 


Nettie 

That’s a little Waldorf salad, Father. We 
had it for supper. 


85 



MINICK 


Minick 

Waldorf salad, h’m? What’s in it? 

(Stirs it a bit with a knife> as he stands.) 

Nettie 

Well, you try it and see. There’s apples in 
it, and nuts, and mayonnaise. 

Lil 

It’s delicious. I wish I were going to have 
some. 

(Old Man Minick’s face doubts this.) 
Nettie 

Now, you sit right down, Father, and eat while 
things are hot. 

Minick 

(After an inclusive glance) 

What’s hot? 

Nettie 

(Moving things on the tray a little) 
Well, your tea. And here’s some nice warmed- 
up spinach. 

(Very little enthusiasm from Minick. 
Me points again.) 

Minick 

What’s that? 

Nettie 

That’s a coddled egg. 

86 


ACT I 


Minick 

Coddled? 

Nettie 

It’s good for you at this time of night. Gives 
you your calories and vitamines. 

(His look of bewilderment to Nettie and 
then to Lil shows that the words are 
meaningless.) 

Fred 

(Goes over to tray, looks it over.) 

Looks pretty good, all right. 

(Minick glances at Fred as if he doubts 
it.) 

Minick 

(Tucks his napkin in.) 

Yessir! Fine! Fella couldn’t ask for any 
better. 

(A pause. Begins to eat. He is a little 
noisy about it, especially with the more 
liquid portions of the meal. The coddled 
egg he brings up in its cup and sups it 
with a spoon.) 

Anybody else want a bite? 

Nettie 

We’ve all eaten, Father. 

Minick 

(Over his shoulder) 

How about you, Corey? 

87 


MINICK 


No, thanks. 


Jim 


Minick 

Some nice spinach here going to waste. 

Nettie 

Here’s some cream for your cold rice pudding. 

(Handing it to him.) 

Minick 

I see it. I see it. 

{Returns it to table.) 
What do eggs bring in Chicago now? 

Nettie 

It depends, Father. The best ones are very 
high. 

Minick 

You give me a couple of days and I’ll save you 
20%. Where do you do your trading? 

Nettie 

{Visibly patient) 

On Fifty-first Street, Father. 

Minick 

That’s the reason. You watch me. I’ll go 
down to South Water Street. 

88 


ACT I 


Nettie 

Don’t you bother about that, Father Minick. 
(Minick takes a too-hasty mouthful, spills 
a spoonful of egg on his coat lapel and 
vest, is dismayed, wipes it hastily with his 
napkin, scratches at it with a knife, takes 
a furtive look around to see if they have 
noticed. They pretend not to have—all 
hut Nettie.) 

Use a little water. 

(Minick dips his napkin in water glass, 
rubs the spots futilely.) 


Minick 

H’m—coddled, eh? Can’t get your teeth 
into it. 


Lil 

It’s good for you. 

Minick 

Yes—I suppose so.—You young couples see a 
good deal of each other, do you? 

Nettie 

Yes, we’re very good friends, Father. 

(Lil pats her hand.) 


I see. I see. 


Minick 

(He eats. A pause.) 


89 


MINICK 


Come in to spend the evening, eh? 

(Eats.) 

Well, looks as if we could get up a pretty nice 
pinochle game some time—the three of us. 
What say? 

Fred 

We don’t play that much in Chicago, Dad. 
Jim 

(To Minick) 

It’s a game I never learned, sir. 

Minick 

Huh! What do you play? 

Lil 

We play bridge. 

Minick 

Bridge, eh? Well, I guess I can pick it up. 

Nettie 

(With apprehension) 

It’s a pretty difficult game, Father. 

Minick 

M-m-m-m, a fellow that can play pinochle can 
play pretty much anything. 

(He surveys the now empty tray.) 

Well! 


90 


ACT I 


Nettie 

Have you had enough, Father? 

(He takes a sip of tea. Regards the cup 
doubtfully.) 

Minick 

Plenty, plenty. Besides, just as well to eat 
light this time of night. 

(Fishes in vest pocket for the cigar.) 
Read just the other day where a fella died from 
eating too much. 

(Puts cigar into his mouth. Fred crosses 
to Minick, taking a box of matches from 
his pocket.) 

Fred 

(Strikes a match) 

Here you are, Father. 

(Gives him the lighted match.) 

Minick 

(Puffs with a loud putt-putting. Holds 
the cigar off contemplatively.) 

Yessir! 

(Throws match in teacup.) 

Died! 

(A pause here, with the others sitting 
about almost helplessly silent. There 
seems nothing to say. Nettie puts tea¬ 
cup on tray.) 

Well, what time do you folks go to bed? 

9i 


MINICK 


Fred 

This is a little early for us, Dad. 

Nettie 

{Re-arranging the dishes on the tray) 

If you’re tired there’s no reason why you 
shouldn’t get your good night’s sleep. Now, 
why don’t you? 

Minick 

Who? Me? I’m as wide awake as a whistle. 
Nettie 

I just thought you might be tired. We have 
some friends coming in a little later. 

Minick 

This time of night! 

Fred 

They’re not going to stay. 

Minick 

Then what they coming for? 

Lil 

They’re stopping for us. We’re going as 
soon as they come. 

Minick 

Oh! 

{Looks expectantly at his watch . Nettie 
folds up napkin.) 

92 


ACT I 


Nettie 

( Rising. Picks up tray from table.) 

Lil, will you just fold the cloth up? 

{Lil comes down to the card table, starts 
to fold the cloth.) 

Fred 

Why are you doing that? Where’s Annie? 


Nettie 


(Holding tray.) 

Fred, she’s had enough to do to-day with¬ 
out— 


Fred 


Nonsense! 

(Rises and crosses to passage door.) 
If I ran my office the way- 

{Calls.) 

Annie! 


Nettie 


Now, Fred, I wish you wouldn’t interfere 
when I’m- 

(She stops as Annie, a rather sinister 
figure by now, looms up in the passage 
door. Nettie turns, leaving Fred in 
charge of the field.) 

Fred 

Would you mind clearing away that tray, 
Annie ? 


93 





MINICK 


{Annie goes to tray in silence, going be¬ 
tween card table and coach. This brings 
her face to face with Minick, who looks 
up at her from his chair and smiles 
friendily. The others are far from 
smiling y especially Annie, whose face is 
grim to a degree. Annie rearranges the 
dishes preparatory to carrying the tray. 
This she does with unnecessary energy. 
Fred stands nearby, as one who intends to 
see his orders carried out.) 

Nettie 

{With an assumption of graciousness she 
is far from feeling.) 

Annie, this is Mr. Minick’s father, who is go¬ 
ing to live with us. Father Minick, this is our 
Annie. 

Minick 

H’are you, m’girl? 

Annie 

{Surlily) 

H’are you? 

Nettie 

We couldn’t get along without Annie, could 
we, Annie? She makes us all comfortable, don’t 
you, Annie? 

{Annie clatters a dish.) 
Oh, to-morrow, Annie—there’s no reason why 

94 


ACT I 


you should come in early. You know, Mr. 
Minick and I always sleep late Sunday. 

{Remembers Minick.) 
Oh, Father, Fred and I are very lazy Sunday 
morning. 

Minick 

Not me! I’m up and around six o’clock. 

{Annie gives him a hard look.) 

Nettie 

Oh, but Annie won’t be here until- 

Minick 

That’s all right. I’ll just stir around in the 
kitchen as quiet as a mouse. 

{Annie again looks at him menacingly.) 
Fix some coffee and toast and boil me an egg. 

{Annie picks up tray and starts toward 
the passage.) 

That’s all I take, as a general thing. 

{Rises.) 

Maybe some cereal. 

{Annie turns with a glare, then continues 
toward passage. The door bell rings.) 

Lil 

That’s Marge and Al. 

Nettie 

It’s all right, Annie. I’ll go. 

{Annie exits with tray.) 

95 



MINICK 


Fred 

{He jerks the desk chair hack to its place 
by the desk and begins to fold up the card 
table.) 

You’d think that girl was the last girl on earth. 
Nettie 

{As she crosses to hall) 

Well, a nice white girl doesn’t like sleeping out. 

Lil 

And Nettie has never used coloured help. 

Once you begin you never can- 

{Fred puts card table back of chair at 
window. From the hall comes Al’s voice 
—the voice of a professional back-slapper. 
Marge f s voice is high, flat, shrill.) 

Al 

(Off) 

Everybody ready! The parade is starting! 
Marge 

(Off) 

Hello there, Net! 

Lil 

{A glance at the clock.) 

Only twenty minutes late. 

Al 

{Enters. Al y s entrances always amount 

96 



ACT I 


to an explosion. He bursts into the 
room.) 

Well, citizens! 

Marge 

Hello, boys and girls. 


Al 

AND citizenesses! Would appreciate a little 
round of welcome, and the keys to the old buffet! 
(Marge goes into hall and arranges her 
hair before mirror. Minick is standing 
apart, a trifle uncertainly, smiling a little. 
Things look lively and he anticipates some 
fun.) 

Fred 

Hello, Al. 


Lil 

Well, I must say-- 

(Jim waves a welcome.) 


Al 

(Crosses to Lil.) 

Oh, you kid! Remember — (Sings) “Papa 
loves mamma, mamma loves papa.” 

(A little jazz step with this song y accom¬ 
panied by finger-snapping. He gives a 
playful jerk to a ribbon on Lil y s waist. 
Minick observes all this; gives a cackle of 
appreciation. Al has a trick of clapping 

97 



MINICK 


his hands together and rubbing them 
briskly. It expresses, for him, geniality. 
This he now does. Marge enters, fol¬ 
lowed by Nettie. Marge is shrill, gay, 
“the life of the party.”) 

Marge 

Listen, we’re not terribly late, are we? 

Lil 

Not any later than usual. 

Marge 

Well, listen, we got started on time, honest to 
God, but A1 had a- 

Al 

Lots of time. Shank of the evening, that’s 
what it is! 

(Starts to chuck Nettie under the chin, but 
Marge stops him. He turns to Fred.) 
Shank of the evening! and a BIG night ahead! 
Wait till those little corks get to popping! 

Fred 

(To Marge and Al) 

I don’t think you’ve ever met my father. 
Father, this is Mr. and Mrs. Diamond. 

(Marge's greeting is too slight for utter¬ 
ance, so that one hears only “ - do,” as 

her glance slides past him. Al goes to 
Minick.) 


98 




ACT I 


Marge 

Lil, my God, what do you think! You know 
that crepe romaine I got at Vogue—Nettie, listen 
to this— 

(Nettie turns to her.) 
—I paid a hundred and seventy-five for it and 
what do I see this afternoon in Leschin’s but the 
same dress down to the embroidery on the slip. 
I went right in and asked the price. I pret’ 
nearly died when the girl told me. Ninety-eight 
fifty. Well, believe me, I marched right down to 
Vogue and gave them a piece of my mind they 
won’t forget in a hurry. “Listen,” I said— 
“what do you folks mean-” 

Al 

(Speaks simultaneously with Marge f to 

Minick, having just been introduced.) 

Well, I certainly am glad to meet Fred’s fa¬ 
ther. Anybody that’s got Fred Minick for a son 
must be all right! I’ll tell the world! 

Minick 

{Genial } if bewildered.) 

That’s right! That’s right! 

Al 

Yop! Fred’s a grand fella—when he’s sober. 

{A dig in Fred y s ribs.) 

Well! 

(The noisy clap of the hands.) 

99 



MINICK 

Minick 

Dinehart, d’you say the name was? 

Fred 

Diamond, Father. 

Al 

(Stamping away, thumbs in his vest. He 
turns to Jim. Fred joins them, making a 
group of three men.) 

Diamond is right! And eighteen karats! 
Well, James, m’boy! How’s the old universe 
been mistreating you? 

Minick 

(Attempts to join the group. More to 
himself than not, the others having turned 
away, leaving him again alone.) 

Oh, Diamond. I thought you said Dinehart. 
Because I used to know a fella named Dinehart 
in the paint business in Springfield. Paints and 
oils. 

Marge 

( Continuing ) 

—by having the nerve to charge me one hundred 
and seventy-five dollars for a dress that I saw the 
exact same- 


Jim 

{In answer to AVs last speech to him) 
Oh, can’t complain. 


ioo 



ACT I 


Al 

Oh, say, who do you think I wrote for twenty- 
five thousand iron boys this afternoon. Remem¬ 
ber Sid Herman? 

Minick 

(In effort to get into conversation) 

Friend of yours? 

Al 

(Goes on, paying no attention to Minick. 
He crosses and joins the women, followed 
by Fred and Jim. They make a compact 
group. Calls.) 

Lil! 


Lil 

What? 

Al 

Sid Herman—you knew him, too, Net. Ask 
Marge if she remembers him. 

Minick 

(Following along obligingly.) 

Do you ? 

Marge 

Oh, shut up, Al. 

Al 

I’ll say she remembers him. Came within an 
IOI 


MINICK 

inch of hooking up with him, that’s merely 
all. 

(A clap of his hands and the brisk rub¬ 
bing of palms. A shout of laughter goes 
up from crowd.) 

Jim and Lil 

Oh-h-h, you Marge! 

(Minick is vague as to what all the noise 
and banter means but is determined to be 
gay y too. In imitation of Al he claps his 
hands loudly together and rubs his palms 
briskly. He beams upon the group with 
his grin which by now has grown some¬ 
what set. He expects some geniality in 
return, but no one is paying any attention 
to him. In the following scene the six 
young people form a close little group in 
which four y and frequently all six f are 
talking at the same time. The talk is dis¬ 
jointed, typical, noisy. Minick is defi¬ 
nitely outside the group.) 

Al 

Well, how about it? Let’s shake a leg! 
Hop on the old band-wagon, or forever after 
hold your peace! 

Jim 

What time is it? 

102 


ACT I 


Al 

{He “jazzes” this.) 

Starting time if we’re going to where we’re go¬ 
ing to get to! 

Marge 

Did Daisy and George ’phone ? 

Nettie 

Yes, Daisy called up a little while ago, but she 
wasn’t sure where they were going. 

Lil 

Well, if Daisy doesn’t know, who does? It’s 
their party. 

Al 

Say, that’s a fine note. Why, I saw George 
this afternoon and he said Keystone Club. The 
li’l’ old Keystone Club. 

Jim 

Oh, what d’you want to drive way out there 
for? River Forest. Takes upwards of an hour 
and a half. Time you get back out there it’ll be 
time to turn around and come back. 

Marge 

I heard of a wonderful new place the other day. 
Listen, I heard of a wonderful new place the 

103 


MINICK 


other day. Bess Snyder told me about it. It’s 
called the—oh, I don’t know—it’s out on—any¬ 
way, she says you can get practically anything you 

want and a wonderful cabaret- 

(Minick up to this time has maintained 
his company grin . But now he gives up. 
Decides to shift for himself. Turns.) 

Lil 

I used to like Ike Bloom’s place. I don’t see 
why we have to drive way out of town. 

Al 

All right. We aim to please. That’s our 
li’l’ motto! Who’s for the House That Jack 
Built? 


Jim 

Oh, say, that’s miles out on the Milwaukee 
Avenue Road. Eleven before we get there. 

Marge 

Well, suppose it is. 

Lil 

I thought we were going to some place in town. 
Jim 

Got to do a lot of detouring on the Milwaukee 
Avenue Road. Torn up. 


104 



ACT I 


Al 

Well, let’s get together. All together for the 
big show. In this tent ladies and gentlemen- 

Marge 

Pete’s sake, yes! 

Lil 

Well, I’ll get my things. 

(Al, with mock gallantry, helps her cross. 
Lil exits into the passage. The clock 
strikes half-past eight.) 

Al 

(A loud clap of the hands.) 
All right, lads and lassie. Keystone Club it is. 
Peerade moves north on Cherry Street. For¬ 
ward! March! 

(Starts towards door prancing and sing¬ 
ing. Al goes through group into the 
outer hall, followed by Marge and Jim. 
Jim puts his coat on. They go out of 
sight. Minick is by now up at the table 
on which stands a lamp. He is idly pull¬ 
ing the lamp chain, his head half turned 
towards the noisy group. He notices that 
something is wrong 'with one chain. It 
does not pull. Is stuck, apparently. He 
stoops slightly to peer at it.) 

Nettie 

(To the group in the hall) 

Well, good-bye. 


105 



MINICK 


Fred 

Good-bye! Have a good time! 

Al 

(Reappearing in the doorway and advanc¬ 
ing a step into the room. Marge stands 
in the doorway. Jim is seen over her 
shoulder.) 

Whaddeyou mean, good-bye! 

Nettie 

Fred and I aren’t going, you know. 

Marge 

Not going? 

Al 

Not going! You’re crazy! Loony like a 
loon, that’s what you are! Why aren’t you 
going? 


Fred 

(Low-voiced) 

We can’t go to-night, Al. 

Al 

Why not, for Pete’s sake! 

(Nettie gives a significant glance at the 
old man. Very loud.) 

Well for—! I’ll soon fix that. Al W. Fixit— 
that’s who I am. 

106 


ACT I 

Nettie 

No, no, Al. 

Fred 

{In protest) 

Al! 


Al 

{Waves them aside with a gesture of im¬ 
patience. To Minick'.) 

Heh, Papa! You don’t care if they go out, 
do you ? 

Minick 

Huh? 

Al 

You don’t care if Fred and Nettie breeze out 
awhile ? 

Minick 

Breeze? 

Fred 

Never mind, Dad. 

Al 

Yeh. With us. The crowd. You can take 
care of yourself, can’t you, kid? 

Minick 

Me? Why, sure I can. I’m no baby. I’m 
all right. 

107 


MINICK 


Al 

There! What did Uncle Aleck tell you ? 

Minick 

(Peering around at Fred and Nettie.) 

You going somewhere? Pretty late, ain’t 
it? 

Fred 

Nettie and I aren’t going, Dad. It’s only the 
others. 

Nettie 

We’re going to stay home with you. 

Minick 

Nobody has to stay home with me. 

(Nervously jerking the lamp chain.) 
I can take care of myself. Take care of myself 
fine. You go right along with your friends here 
and enjoy yourself. Yessir. Take care of my¬ 
self fine. Nobody’s got to stay with me. No¬ 
body’s got to- 

(He is a little startled by the whole pro¬ 
ceedings and somewhat embarrassed by his 
own feelings. To conceal this he concen¬ 
trates on the faulty lamp as though that 
were his chief concern .) 

This light don’t work. 

(Minick quite suddenly turns and goes off 

108 



ACT I 


into the passage just as Lil enters. She 
steps aside for him f senses the situation.) 

Lil 

(She stands in passage door looking after 
Minick.) 

What’s the matter? 


Fred 

Where’s he-shouldn’t I see if—r— 

(Looking after Minick.) 

Nettie 

It’s all right, dear. 

Al 

’Course he’s all right. No nurse needed for 
that old boy. 

Fred 

«sr 

Well- 

Al 

Come on, people! Into your duds! This 
way for the big show! 

(Circling the group , he does a faun dance 
on his way to the door.) 

Nettie 

Al, we just can’t go yet. Why don’t you ge 
on ahead and we’ll follow, if we possibly can. 

109 





MINICK 


Fred 

Yes, let’s leave it at that. 


Marge 

Oh, don’t be silly. I never heard anything so 
old-fashioned in my life. 


Lil 

I think that’ll be best. We know you’ll come 
if you can. 


Fred 

You four go ahead. We’ll catch up to you. 


Al 

Now, you’re not going to backslide! Come 
one, come all—we want ’em all! 

Fred 

We have to wait till he goes to bed. 


Al 


All right! 

(A clap of his hands.) 

We’re off! 

(Jim goes first, Marge next, then Al and 
Fred together, then Nettie and Lil to¬ 
gether. As the whole group moves to¬ 
ward hall.) 

Now, get this earful! The bunch’ll be at the 
li’l’ old Congress. 


i io 


ACT I 


Lil 

Well, how are you going to get down? 
Nettie 

We’ll take the L. It’s quicker, anyhow. 


Marge 

We’ll wait until half-past nine. Half-past 
nine. 


Al 

And if there’s any new dope we’ll give you a 
buzz. 

(The group is out in hall, still talking. 
You hear Al saying:) 

Now, I’ll ring you. 


Marge 

Now, don’t be foolish! 

(The stage is hare for an instant after 
they go, while the chatter of farewells and 
plans for meeting Fred and Nettie con¬ 
tinue in the outer hall. Minick enters 
from the passage, carrying a hammer 
and a screw driver. His manner is busi¬ 
nesslike and alert. He flings the ham¬ 
mer and screw driver on the table’s 
polished top, rolls up his sleeves a little, 
stoops stiffly, removes the lamp shade, 
which rolls from the table to the couch. 


ill 



MINICK 


Peers closely to find the source of the 
trouble. He unscrews the light bulb, 
jerks the faulty chain a couple of times. 
Now he thinks he has found the source of 
the trouble. He settles to the job. Pick- 
ing up the screw driver he adjusts it, then 
taps it firmly with the hammer. 

The farewells in the hall have died 
down; have ceased. The outer door 
slams. Fred and Nettie re-enter.) 

Nettie 

Father Minick! What are you doing? 
Minick 

I’m fixing your lamp. 

Nettie 

But you mustn’t—Fred! 

(Appeals to her husband.) 

Fred 

Don’t bother, Dad. We’ll have it fixed. 
Nettie 

(Picking up screw driver.) 

Father, where did you get-Fred, put the 

shade back on, will you, please ? 

Minick 

I’ll do it. 


I 12 



Nettie 

No, Father. You sit down. Whatever made 
you-I’ve sent for the man to fix it. 

Minick 

Man nothing! Glad to do it for you. Been 
fixing things all my life. Say, I can do more with 
a hammer and a couple of nails than most these 
fellas can with a whole tool chest. 

Nettie 

Father, we have a man who does everything 
like that for us. A regular man. Now, I want 
you to promise me that you’re not going to 

Minick 

No trouble. I like to putter around. A nail 
here, a nail there. 

(Fred is now putting bulb on lamp.) 

Nettie 

Oh- 

(Crosses to Minick and gets hammer. 

Turns desperately to her husband.) 

Fred! 

(Exits with hammer and screw driver in¬ 
to passage.) 

Minick 

What’s the matter with her? 





MINICK 

Fred 

(Replacing shade.) 

Nettie likes everything just so around the 
house. 


Minick 

Wasn’t hurting anything. 

(A little pause. Minick goes up to win¬ 
dow and stands looking out—sulking a 
little. ) 

Whyn’t you and Nettie go along with the rest 
of ’em? 


Fred 

Well—we’ll see. 


(Nettie re-enters.) 


Minick 

No sense in your staying around here. I’m 
going to bed anyhow. Going right away. 


Nettie 

( Alertly ) 

Oh, are you? 


Fred 

(Takes Minick’s arm and attempts to 
manoeuvre him into a chair.) 

No, he’s not. Now, we’re going to sit 
down here, the three of us, and have a good 
talk. 



Photo by White Studio 

Fred: “Dad, you know how awfully glad we 
are to have you here, don’t you?” 
















































ACT I 

Minick 

(Still at window, facing away from them.) 
I’m not going to let you stay home with me. 
You got your evening planned out. Take care 
of m’self. I can take care of m’self fine. 


Fred 

(Sits in armchair.) 

Well, we may go after awhile. Sit down. 
Tell us. How’s everybody in Bloomington? 
Sit down, Nettie. Father, sit down. 

(Minick isn y t deceived. He gives a quick 
look, pulls out his watch.) 


Minick 

I’m going to bed in two minutes. 

Nettie 


(Grasps at this) 
I’ll hurry Annie up. 

Annie! 

The water’s running— 
finished? 


(Goes to passage door.) 

(Aside.) 

Annie ! Are you almost 


Annie 

(Off) 

N’yeh! 

(Or nearly that. It is really a com¬ 
bination of yes and a snarl.) 

115 


MINICK 


Nettie 

{To Minick) 

She’s nearly finished. Then you can go back. 

Fred 

Now, he’s not going to bed yet—are you, Dad? 

Minick 

Yes, I am. I want you to keep on just the 
same as if I wasn’t here. 

Fred 

{With obvious effort at conversation) 

Tell me, whatever become of that Brett- 
schneider boy I used to run around with? Re¬ 
member—I told you about him, Nettie. What¬ 
ever became of him, Dad? 

Minick 

{Strolling to Nettie’s desk, peers with 

feigned interest into picture over it .) 

I was going to bed, anyhow. You folks run 
along. 

Fred 

Oh, now, Dad. 

Nettie 

Well, now, maybe Father Minick does want 
to go to bed, Fred. 

116 


ACT I 


Fred 

{Hopefully) 

Well, if you’re sure, Dad, that it’s all right- 

Minick 

’Course it’s all right. You go right out and 
enjoy yourself. 

Nettie 

I’ll get my things on. 

{Goes quickly to the passage door and 
exits. Minick turns to the desk and jerks 
the lamp chain nervously .) 

Fred 

{His hands on Minick 1 s shoulders) 

Dad, you know how awfully glad we are to 
have you here, don’t you? 

( There comes a look in the old man 1 s face 
unseen hy Fred,—a look of something 
resembling terror. A piteous look. It 
says y “So this is what my old age has 
brought me! 1 ) 

Minick 

It’s awfully nice of you and Nettie to do it. I 
guess I’m making a good deal of bother, coming 
in on you like this. 

Fred 

Why, Dad! Not a bit. 

117 


MINICK 

Minick 

I know. But you and Nettie got your own 
way of doing things. And—I know. 

( Nettie, her coat and hat on, comes into 
the dining room and turns out the light 
there.) 

Fred 

(With a hearty slap on the back) 

You don’t know anything of the kind. It’s 
going to be fine. You’re going to like it and so 
are we. Aren’t we, Nettie? 

(Nettie enters the room.) 

Nettie 

(Puts out light in lamp by arm-chair.) 

What? 

Fred 

I was just telling Dad how happy we are to 
have him. 

Nettie 

(Goes to Minick and pats his hand.) 

Of course. We’re awfully happy, Father 
Minick. And we want you to feel that this is 
your home and that what we want to do is to 
make you happy and comfortable. 

Minick 

I’ll be all right. I’ll be all right. Don’t you 
worry about me. You children go on, now. 

118 


ACT I 


(He sits on the couch, takes “Vanity 
Fair * 9 off the table and pretends to read.) 


Nettie 

Now is there anything you want, Father? 
Minick 

I got everything I want. I’m fixed up. 

(Fred crosses to hall, gets his coat and 
hat.) 

Nettie 

(Turns out desk lamp.) 

Annie’s putting on her things now. She’ll be 
out of your way in one minute. All right, Fred? 

Fred 

(Comes back a few steps into the room.) 
Yes, I guess so. Now, you are all right, Dad? 
You know, I’d just as soon not go . . . 

Minick 


(With a wave of his hand). 
Shoo ! O’ course you go! 


Well- 


Fred 

Nettie 


Well, good-night then, Father. 

Minick 


Good-night—have a good time. 

119 



MINICK 

Nettie 

(Crosses to him and kisses him.) 

See you in the morning. And you’ll turn out 
the other lights in here, won’t you? And just 
leave the hall light on. Don’t forget. 

Fred 

(Reluctant to go, turns at doorway.) 
Good-bye, Father. How about a nice walk to¬ 
morrow morning, you and I? 

Minick 

Sure—we’ll have big times. 

Nettie 

Good-night. 

(Exits.) 

Fred 

(Lingeringly) 

Good-night. 

(Exits.) 

Minick 

Good-night. 

(The outer door slams; the old man rises 
and throws down his magazine; he walks 
aimlessly toward the hall; then he turns 
toward the window, cups his eyes, and 
peers into the darkness outside in the hope 
of seeing them depart. He comes centre, 


120 


ACT I 


mutters to himself, “Well, sir!” starts to¬ 
ward table lamp and turns it out, then 
down to desk lamp, which he lights; sees 
card catalogue, sits in armchair and takes 
out a few cards, replacing them obviously 
in the wrong compartments. He takes 
of his boots, grateful for the relief. It 
has been a long day. His feet are tired. 
He wriggles them a little, patting the 
carpet with his grey-stockinged feet. 
This, somehow, reminds him of AVs little 
dance. With a little cackle of laughter he 
rises and attempts a rickety imitation of 
AVs performance, with its song, “Papa 
loves mama, mama loves papa.” He 
tries AVs killing gesture of one hand at 
the heart. It is a little too much for him. 
He gives it up. Now he hears a little 
stir in the passage. He comes eagerly 
over and sees Annie emerging from the 
kitchen.) 

Oh, hello! 

Annie 

Enters. She is carrying various brown- 
paper bundles, a battered suit-case, an 
alarm clock, her umbrella, and a wisp of 
yellowed palm, relic of a Palm Sunday 
long past. She is dressed for the street. 
In her cross from the passage door to the 
outer hallway she never stops.) 

I’m going now. 


I 2 I 


MINICK 

Minick 

{He gets behind and trots along right 
after her.) 

Forgot all about you being here. Been pack¬ 
ing up your things, I suppose. 

Annie 

Yes. I’m goin’ now. 

Minick 

( Sociably) 

Live far from here? 

Annie 

Yeh. 

(She keeps right on to the outer door.) 
Minick 

{Following to hallway door) 

Take the L, do you? L’s quicker than the 
surface car. Yessir! 

{The outer door slams. Annie is gone. 
He pretends he hasn } t been rebuffed.) 
Much—quicker. I came up on the 1^—— 

{Sadly, thoughtfully, to himself.) 
Yessir! I came up on the L. 

{There is, obviously, nothing left to do 
but to go to bed. He picks up his 
boots, remembers that he is to turn out a 
lamp, stoops stiffly to turn out the light at 
the side of the armchair. The small desk 


122 



ACT I 


lamp is still lighted, but he has forgotten 
that. The lights in the outer hall and the 
passage illumine the room, but softly. 
In his stocking feet, carrying his boots, he 
walks across to the passage, up the pas¬ 
sage, closes his door. The clock on the 
shelf above the bookcase strikes nine. 
A second’s pause. 

CURTAIN 


123 








ACT II 










( 



/ 




b 













ACT II 


Scene 

The scene is the same as Act /. It is 
about six months later. A November 
afternoon. The time is about two-thirty. 
At the rise Lula, a negro maid, is just 
finishing a vigorous cleaning. Several 
pieces of furniture are still grouped to¬ 
gether in the middle of the room; there 
are pails, mops, and cleaning rags. It is 
only the tail end of the cyclone that we 
are permitted to see. This is, however, 
no desultory dusting in progress. It is a 
sudden and desperate emergency cleaning, 
with Lula lunging about in heavy leaps 
and bounds, pulling a rug straight, tug- 
ging at a chair, stooping, shaking, pound¬ 
ing, straightening. As Lula is in the act 
of lifting some particularly big piece of 
furniture Minick enters from the passage. 
He is dressed for the house—and it is the 
attire of a semi-invalid who knows he is 
not going out again that day. He wears 
loose and comfortable bedroom slippers 
of the Romeo type, so that the bottom of 
his trousers are caught a little in the backs 
of the slippers, giving him that sloppy 

127 


MINICK 


look of the neglige male. Around his 
neck is an article that might he a muffler 
and might be a large coloured silk handker¬ 
chief. Whatever it is, it does not greatly 
add to his appearance. To make matters 
worse he has a heavy cold and has to 
sniffle now and then. On these occasions 
he pulls a huge handkerchief from his 
pocket. 

Minick 

(Stops about centre and peers into the 
hallway.) 

Thought I heard Nettie. Was it Nettie? 
Lula 

(Not looking at him) 

No, sir. 

(Is breathlessly tugging at the heavy 
table.) 

Minick 

(Disappointed) 

Oh! 

(Makes as though to help her.) 

Here! 

(His help is really a hindrance. Lula 
lunges down stage intent on another piece 
of furniture. Minick follows her, mean¬ 
ing to help again. He rather hopes it 
will be a big enough piece to require his 
help. But it isn } t. Only a small chair, 

128 


ACT II 


which she flings aside unaided. Now she 
heads for another, and again he eagerly 
follows, meaning to be of help. Again 
he is disappointed. Lula takes no notice 
of him. She works capably and with 
fury. He gives up his role of assistant. 
Takes out his watch—a huge silver one.) 

Minick 

She’ll be coming back soon, won’t she? 

(Sniffles.) 


Lula 

I s’pose so. 

Minick 

What time’d she go? 

Lula 

(She is not short with him, or snappish. 
Merely busy and intent on finishing her 
work.) 

I told you she went just before you come in. 
Minick 

Then she ought to come back soon— 

(Sniffles.) 

—if she’s going to get here. 

(This is in the tone of one who is looking 
for confirmation. Lula goes on about her 
work. Getting no reply, he goes on.) 

129 


MINICK 

Yessir! Ought to come back soon. It’s half¬ 
past two. 

(Lula now gathers up a pail and mop 
from among the brooms, dusters, carpet 
sweeper, etc., and turns to cross to the hall - 
way. As she does so Minick takes out 
his handkerchief hastily. Sneezes.) 

Lula 

I told you you shouldn’t have gone downtown 
this weather. Look at your cold! 

(Goes out.) 

Minick 

(After a considerable pause, during which 
he stands looking after her.) 

Stay home for a little cold! Sick of staying 
home. 

Lula 

( Re-enters briskly.) 

Going to keep you in the house another four 
days—that’s what it is. Mrs. Minick she was 
awful mad when she discovered you gone out. 
Blamed me for it. 


Minick 

Guess I’m old enough to know if I can go out 
or not. 


Lula 

Don’t know no more’n a child. Have keep 
130 


ACT II 


after you like you was a baby. What you go 
out for anyway, feeling like you do? 

Minick 

(Very high-toned) 

I’ll tell you something, m’girl. There may be 
some pretty important developments out of my 
going downtown this morning. 

Lula 

( Unimpressed ) 

Yah! ’Velopments! 

Minick 

Some pret-ty important de-velopments. Yes- 
sir! 

(A figure of importance, at this moment 
Minick has to take a hasty side-step to 
avoid the handle of Lula!s broom, which 
she has tucked under her arm in order to 
leave her hand free for the remaining 
utensils . The handle describes an arc 
which just misses him.) 

Yessir! And it may lead to far-reaching con¬ 
sequences. May take a good deal of business 
acumen to handle it. I’m not sure yet just what 
I’m going to do about it. There’s several angles 
and I’m not sure which angle to take. That’s 
why I want to see Nettie. 

(Lula here charges with a large chair, 
which she is pushing into place by sliding 
it along the floor. Her onslaught neces- 

131 


MINICK 


sitates another quick side-step on the part 
of Minick y the big man of affairs .) 

Lula 

You better let her alone to-day. She’s busy. 
Minick 

That’s all right. She’ll listen to this. We’ve 
got to put our heads together. Yessir! 

(Lula has moved the smoking table from 
its accustomed place to a spot in front of 
the armchair; removes articles on it to 
bookcase and takes from the latter an 
elaborate gavel with silver inset.) 

Lula 

I tell you you better not go bothering her to¬ 
day, with her meetin’ on. 

Minick 

Yeh—meeting! What’s a meeting! If she’s 
got a meeting what’s she doing out so long for? 

Lula 

She had to go for sandwich stuff. I told you 
once. She didn’t know she was going to have 
this meeting— 

(Blows on silver inset of gavel and 
polishes it, placing it on smoking table.) 
—till an hour ago. It was going to be over at 
some other lady’s house. 

I3 2 


ACT II 


(Goes to the zvindow to straighten a 
shade.) 

Wisht it’d stayed there. 

Minick 

Well, don’t seem to me much sense in holding 
a lot of women’s meetings when— 

(Sees the gavel; picks it up.) 
—when there’s things a million times— 

(Reads inscription on silver inset.) 

—more- 

{Lula is picking up her broom and carpet 
sweeper as the doorbell rings.) 

I’ll let ’em in. 

{Puts down gavel with decision, and starts 
to door.) 

Lula 

{Stopping dead in her tracks .) 

You mean them friends of yours coming this 
house again to-day! 

Minick 

{Turning in hall door.) 

Like to know why not! 

Lula 

After me just cleanin’ up and Mrs. Minick 
expectin’ her meetin’ ? They been coming here 
three days hand-running. 

133 



MINICK 


Minick 

Entitled to have company, ain’t I? Too cold 
to sit in the park. 

(The doorbell rings again. Minick starts 
into hallway.) 

Lula 

Yah, company! What you do—sit around, 
talk your fool heads off! 

(Starts to go, then decides to wait and 
see who it is.) 

Minick 

(Off) 

Gentlemen, come in! 

Dietenhofer 

(Of), 

Well, Minick, how are you? 

Price 

(Off) 

Afternoon! 

Dietenhofer 

(Off) 

The cold any better? 

Minick 

. (Off) 

I think it’s breaking up. I was downtown this 
morning. 


134 


ACT II 
Price 

(Off) 

Bad weather to be out in. 

( Dietenhofer, a man of about Minick!s 
age, comes into the room. He wears 
rubbers and overcoat, and still has his hat 
on. He is unwinding a long muffler. 
The voices of Minick and Price continue 
in the hallway.) 

Dietenhofer 

(To the glaring Lula) 

Hello! 

Lula 

(Pointing to his rubbers) 

I just clean this room and Mrs. Minick going 
to have a meeting. 

Dietenhofer 

(Looking down questioningly) 

Huh? 

Lula 

I say I wish you leave them rubbers in the hall¬ 
way, day like this. Took me hour cleaning up 
after you yesterday! 

Dietenhofer 

Oh! 

(He turns to go y just as Price enters, fol¬ 
lowed by Minick. Price is another old 

135 


MINICK 


gentleman, wears overshoes, etc . He is 
struggling with his overcoat . Dieten- 
hofer goes into the hall and removes his 
rubbers.) 

Lula 

{Pointing to Price’s feet) 

You got ’em on too. 

Minick 

Yes, sir, I guess we won’t sit out in the park 
much more this year. 

{Notices that Lula is pointing at Price’s 
feet.) 

Now what’s the matter? 

Lula 

I ask that other gentleman please leave his 
rubbers in the hallway. 

Minick 

{To Price) 

She’s just cleaned up—sort of fussy. 

{Price nods, walks on his heels to a chair 
up in the corner and removes his coat and 
hat. Dietenhofer re-enters, rubbers off, 
and seeing Price removing his coat, starts 
to take his own off; he looks for a place 
to put his coat and selects the window 
seat.) 


136 


ACT II 


Lula 

All I got say is you wait till Mrs. Minick 
come back. 

Minick 

That’s all right. 

Lula 

She going to be awful mad, find you here to-day. 
(She departs for the back of the house.) 

Price 

What did she say? 

Minick 

Nettie’s got some clubwomen coming or some¬ 
thing, but we got lots of time. 

Price 

Sure—I got time. 

{He makes for an armchair.) 

Dietenhofer 

{Taking out his pipe and heading for the 
sofa) 

Women are always doing something nowadays. 
My time they stayed home and tended to things. 

{Settles himself on the sofa.) 

Price 

Not to-day. It’s the unrest. 

{He too gets comfortable.) 

137 


MINICK 


Minick 

(Sits also, his feet on another chair.) 
Yep. Fixing this and fixing that. 

( Sniffles, takes out his handkerchief; Price 
takes off his rubbers and throws them into 
the hallway; Dietenhofer fills his pipe; 
shaking the tobacco out of the pouch and 
spilling a good deal on the carpet. With 
the manner of one opening a meeting:) 
Well, sir! What’s the good word? 

(You gather that now they are settling 
down to business.) 


Dietenhofer 

Oh-o-o-h, about the same, I guess. Every¬ 
thing’s about the same as yesterday. Yep! 
How’s it with you? 

(Strikes a match and lights his pipe.) 


Minick 

Oh-oh-oh, not much different. How about 
you, Price? 


Price 


Oh-oh-oh, so so. 
the other. 


Not much of one thing or 
(Takes out his pipe.) 


Minick 

Anything new over to the Home to-day? 
138 


ACT II 


Dietenhofer 

No—nothing special. Nothing special. 

(Throws his burnt match under the sofa; 
Price now knocks his pipe bowl against 
smoking table y spilling the ashes on the 
carpet } then brings out a large clasp-knife 
from his pocket and opens it leisurely.) 
Not smoking, Minick? 


Minick 

No. Don’t taste like anything when you got a 
cold. 

Price 

How is your cold? 

Minick 

Well, if the weather’d let up- 

Dietenhofer 

Weather’s pretty bad, all right. 

Minick 

Yes, sir—regular November. 

{Sniffles.) 

It’s November, all right. 


Dietenhofer 

That’s what. 


Minick 

Yes, sir! It’s November. 

139 


MINICK 


Dietenhofer 

Yep! 

Minick 

Yessir! 

{Price grinds in his pipe with the knife.) 
Cut over through the park, did you ? 

{Price has succeeded in loosening his pipe 
ashes; he looks around for a place to put 
them, sees a fancy vase on the bookcase, 
rises and gets it.) 

Dietenhofer 
Yah. Pretty wet, too. 

Minick 

I was downtown this morning, though. 
Dietenhofer 

You don’t say? How was it? 

Minick 

Bad. Yes, sir—bad. 

{Price clinks his pipe against the vase, 
then places it on the floor by his chair.) 

Dietenhofer 

{Rising) 

Blackening up in the west again. Means more 
rain. What did I tell you this morning, Price? 
Watch the west, I says—that’s where she comes 
from. 

{He takes Price up to the window.) 
140 


ACT II 


Minick 

(Joins them at the window.) 

Turn to snow, most likely. That’s November 
for you. 

(Dietenhofer snaps up one window shade; 
Price goes to another window and snaps 
up its shade f which rolls around furiously.) 

Dietenhofer 

Ya—I guess you were right, Minick. Going 
to turn to snow. No more sitting out in the park 
this year. 

Minick 

Well, we set out pretty late at that. October. 

Dietenhofer 
October the 28th. 

Minick 

Guess I set out too late. That’s where I 
caught my cold. 

Dietenhofer 

Well, a fellow can get a cold that way. Yep! 
Minick 

I did, all right. Yessir! 

Price 

(Who has been gazing out of window) 
Say—there’s a right pretty girl going along. 

(The others look.) 

141 


MINICK 

Dietenhofer 


That’s right. 

Minick 

Trim figure, too. 

Price 

She’s stopping for something. 

No—she’s going ahead. 

Dietenhofer 
Stopping again. 

Price 

No. She’s going. 


(A pause.) 


Minick 

There she goes! Down the street. Down 
the street. 

{His voice takes on distance; Price returns 
to his chair.) 

Pretty busy street, all right. Lots of people 
go by. You know how many automobiles I 
counted in an hour yesterday! Two hundred 
and fifty-six! Sitting right there. 


Dietenhofer 

{Returning to the sofa; sits.) 

Wa-a-a-1, won’t be so many from now on. 
Winter’s coming on now, all right. Be May be¬ 
fore we can sit out again. Yep! 

142 


ACT II 

Minick 

Yessir! May! May’s a long time off. 
Pretty hard knowing what to do between now and 
then. 


Dietenhofer 

That’s right. Winter’s a bad time. 

Minick 

Yessir! With the park gone it’s going to be 
pretty hard to fill in the time. I was thinking 
about it this morning. 

Price 

You got a nice place here. 

(Lights a cigar.) 

Minick 

Winter’s a long time. Besides, generally folks 
in this room—company—one thing another. 
I’ve got my own room—but you can’t do much of 
anything there. 


Dietenhofer 

Oh, I don’t know. There’s always something 
to do. 

Minick 

Well, of course, you can take a walk, but you 
got to walk pretty brisk, weather like this. Gen¬ 
erally get a good nap after lunch, though. Then 

143 


MINICK 


—one thing another comes up. First thing 
you know, it’s six o’clock, Fred comes home with 
the evening paper. Some news in that, as a rule. 
Then, after supper, I’m generally pretty tired, 
anyhow. Once in a while, though, Fred and I 
have a little game of dominoes before they go 
out. 

Dietenhofer 

(With a trace of meaning) 

The big room over to the Home is pretty nice 
in winter. 


Price 

Get your pinochle game there. 

Dietenhofer 

That’s what. Too bad they don’t let vis¬ 
itors play over there, Minick. We got some 
pretty smart pinochle heads. Garvey—Hender¬ 
son—Schultz- 

Price 

D’you know what Henderson held last night! 
A five hundred hand! 

Minick 

Gosh! 

Dietenhofer 

Only bid four-fifty on it. 

144 



ACT II 

Minick 

Probably picked up something. 

Price 

Just twenty. 

(Takes out his newspaper and starts to 
read.) 

Dietenhofer 

Yep! We have great times. They look out 
for your comfort over there pretty nice, Minick. 
They’re paid to do it. Catch me going any place 
where I didn’t pay my way. 

Minick 

Well, I like to pay my way myself. 

Dietenhofer 

They make you feel like somebody over to the 
Grant Home. A club, that’s what it’s like. A 
club. And may be a vacancy soon, too. 

(He eyes Minick narrowly.) 
Old Patterson’s talking about going out to Los 
Angeles with a nephew or something. 

Price 

Expecting word any minute. 

Minick 

No, sir! My son wouldn’t hear of it. No, 
nor his wife, neither. Nettie wouldn’t hear of it. 

145 


MINICK 


Dietenhofer 

I wouldn’t live any other way. You’re free. 
They got their rules, but outside of that you’re 
free. You’re never your own boss living the 
other way. Price here was through it. Weren’t 
you, Price ? 

Price 

(Absorbed in the paper) 

What? 

Dietenhofer 

You were living with your daughter before you 
come to the Home. 

(Turns to Minick.) 

Four children, she had. 

Price 

“Pa don’t do this. Pa don’t do that.” 
Nossir! 

Dietenhofer 
I’ve seen it. Seen it often. 

Price 

Errands. “Spool of white, No. ioo.” “Half 
a pint of double whippin’ cream.” “Ten cent 
loaf of gluten bread.” And taking babies out 
wheelin’ all the time. 

Dietenhofer 

Hear all this talk nowadays about young folks. 
Old folks had some rights time I was a boy. 

146 


ACT II 

Minick 

Babies out wheelin’. Well, I guess that’s one 
thing I won’t ever have to do here. Blamed if 
I can understand what they’re aiming at, these 
young people. I’m going to talk to Nettie about 
it—some day. 

Dietenhofer 

Times are changing, that’s all. 

Price 

It’s the unrest. 

Minick 

Club meetings. Worrying about other peo¬ 
ple’s children, instead of having some of their 
own. 

(Rises and goes to the smoking table.) 
Club meetings, like the one she’s got coming here 
to-day. 

(Takes the gavel, and hands it to Dieten¬ 
hofer, who has risen.) 

Here it is—that’ll show you. 

Dietenhofer 

(Reading inscription on silver plate) 

“Presented to Nettie B. Minick by her fellow 
members of the Home Relations Committee, 
Woman’s Civic Aid, June 14, 1922.” 

(Weighs the gavel in his hand.) 
Nice piece of wood, all right. Regular 
mahogany. 


147 


MINICK 


Price 

Let me see it. 

(Gauges its weight in his hand.) 
More like teak. That’s what it is—teakwood. 
(Minick takes it, weighs it, hands it to 
Dietenhofer who also weighs it skep¬ 
tically.) 

Dietenhofer 

Well, maybe. 

(Uses the gavel to press the ashes in his 
pipe, returns to his seat and drops the 
gavel on sofa.) 

Heigh-ho! 

{Minick returns to his chair; there is a 
slight pause.) 

Price 

{Resuming his reading) 

I see where the sun’s coming out to-morrow. 


Minick 

That so? 

Price 


{Reading) 

“Official Weather Forecast. Cloudy to-day; 
fresh northerly winds.” 


Minick 

{Judicially) 

That’s what they are. 

148 


ACT II 


Price 

“To-morrow fair. Temperature yesterday: 
Highest, 43, 3:45 p. M.; lowest, 34, 9 A. M.” 

Minick 

(Pulling out watch) 

IPs five minutes to three now. 

Dietenhofer 

(Also takes out huge watch.) 

Seven minutes. There’s a clock. 

Minick 

(Not even looking at it) 

Ain’t going. I set mine this morning by the 
Wrigley Building. It’s now exactly— 

{Waits for a second.) 
—four and a half minutes to three. 

Dietenhofer 
No, sir—you’re fast. 

Minick 

I ain’t had this watch in a repair shop in eight 
years. That’s what I think of it. 

Dietenhofer 

Well, you’re fast, just the same. 

{Falls to puffing again; Minick sniffles; 
Price turns a page of the newspaper.) 


149 


MINICK 

Price 

( Oracularly) 

“The World of Finance.” 

Minick 

How’s it going? 

Price 

“Rails Stand Firm As Market Sags.” 

Minick 

Yeh? Well, I ain’t bullish on rails. 
Dietenhofer 

Market’s been pretty good lately. A fella 
could have made a tidy sum just knowing what to 
go in to and when to go in to it. 

Minick 

We-e-ell, I don’t fool around with stocks, much. 
Rather have a nice piece of property than all your 
stocks and new-fangled businesses. 

Dietenhofer 

N-n-n-yeh! Ties up your money. 

Minick 

Well, better than putting it in some wildcat 
business and losing it. 

(Rises.) 

If I was so minded I could tell you two gentle- 
150 


ACT II 


men a case in point that I just found out about 
this morning. And I think it’s a big mistake! 

Dietenhofer 

What case was that? 

Minick 

M-m-m-m—it’s pretty confidential. But I 
don’t know but what your advice might not 
be valuable. You’re both business men of 
experience. 

Dietenhofer 

I want you just to consider me at your service. 
{A large gesture. They shift a bit in 
their chairs, rather importantly.) 

Minick 

Well, sir! It’s like this. 

(Takes desk chair and draws it over to 
Dietenhofer.) 

What do you gentlemen think of the mail-order 
business—as a business? 

{Price draws his chair over to them, drop - 
ping his paper on floor.) 

Dietenhofer 

Do you mean from the aspect of an invest¬ 
ment? 


Minick 

No, sir! I mean as a business to go into. 

151 


MINICK 

Dietenhofer 

Well, yes and no, is what I say. 

Price 

Somebody gone into it? 

Minick 

Somebody! My son Fred, that’s who! 

Dietenhofer 

You don’t say! 

Minick 

Yessir! And I’ve got to stop him before it’s 
too late! 

Price 

How far have things gone? 

Minick 

Just started up, near’s I can find out. Fredas 
never said boo about it around the house. Not 
even to Nettie, I don’t think. She wouldn’t ’a’ 
let him do it, either. 

Dietenhofer 

Tell us about it. 

Minick 

Well, here I’d been cooped up in the house 
four days now. So this morning I got up, my 
cold was quite some better—Nettie was out do- 

152 


ACT II 


ing something—so I says to myself, I says, “I’ll 
just jump on the L and go down and say hello to 
Fred.” Freshen me up! So I goes down there. 
Big place full of desks and one of them smart 
Alecks asking you who do you want to see and 
have you got an appointment. I made short 
work of him. “Listen,” I said, “I’m Fred Min- 
ick’s father. Which one’s his office?” By that 
time he looked pretty scared. And I’d of 
marched right in, too, only he says, pretty wilty 
by now, “Mr. Minick ain’t in,” he says. “He’s 
over at his other place.” Well, at that I smelled 
a rat right away. “Oh,” I says, “he is, is he?” 
And this young sprat says, “Yes, he’s always over 
there mornings.” I never let on. “That’s so!” 
I says. “Let’s see, now. That number’s two 
sixty—uh-” “It’s the Monadnock Build¬ 

ing,” the kid says. “I don’t know the number.” 

Price 

Good work! 


Dietenhofer 
Did you find it? 

Minick 

(A gesture that means “Leave it to me!”) 
Marched right up to the elevator fella and 
says, “Party name of Minick got offices here?” 
“Eleven-seventeen,” he says. 

(Imitates the man 1 s tone.) 
And sure enough, there it was painted on the 

153 



MINICK 


door: “Twentieth Century Mail-Order Com¬ 
pany.” And down underneath, “Frederick Min- 
ick—James J. Corey!” That’s a friend of his. 

Price 

Two of them! 


Dietenhofer 

Did you go in? 

Minick 

Had my hand on the door when I says to my¬ 
self, “No! I want to see Nettie first about this.” 
Fred’s a funny boy. Got to handle him just so. 
Ever since he was a youngster. So! That’s the 
situation in a nutshell, gentlemen, and I would 
certainly appreciate having your advice. 

Dietenhofer 

Well, now that you’ve laid all the facts be¬ 
fore me—I don’t know. But I will say this, 
here and now. You take two young fellas, in¬ 
experienced— 

( Nettie’s key is heard in the outer door . 
Minick hastily motions to Dietenhofer 
to be silent.) 

Minick 

Here’s Nettie now. 

(Nettie enters carrying two bundles, one 
a loaf of bread, the other a smaller 
bundle.) 


H4 



ACT II 


Minick 

(Elaborately casual) 

Hello, Nettie! 

{Nettie stops short as she sees the old 
men. A quick look takes in the disorder 
of the room. Two are still puffing their 
pipes. Newspapers are scattered all 
about. The window shades are awry; 
chairs are pulled out of place; cushions 
rumpled; the gavel and the vase on the 
floor; ashes on the carpet; muddy foot¬ 
prints. 

Nettie 

Oh, Father! What are you-! I told you 

not- 

{Her look and gesture express more than 
her words . Picks up vase and puts it on 
bookcase.) 

Minick 

{Explaining) 

Well, Mr. Dietenhofer and- 

Nettie 

It was all right yesterday, and—but- 

{Picks up newspapers and goes toward 
passage.) 


Dietenhofer 

We only came in to keep Mr. Minick- 
155 






MINICK 

Nettie 


Lula! Lula! 

(Turns to the old men.) 
Of course I was glad to have you sit with Father 

Minick this week, but to-day- 

(Lula enters from the passage.) 

Lula, take these! 

(Stuffs newspapers into her hands.) 
No, wait a minute! 

(Gives her the two bundles.) 
That’s for the sandwiches—and hurry! I’m ter¬ 
ribly late—I thought I’d never get- 

(As Lulu goes.) 

And bring in the dustpan and whisk broom! 

(During the next few speeches Nettie is 
flying about the room in a desperate effort 
to set it to rights before her guests arrive; 
takes gavel from sofa and replaces it on 
smoking table.) 

Of course I know it’s been hard on you, Father, 

being in—but just to-day- 

(Pulls armchair into place.) 

So inconvenient—my whole committee- 

Come to-morrow—come Thursday—come any 

other day! I’d be only too glad- 

(Takes desk chair and replaces it; goes 
around the old men to the table, they turn 
completely around watching her; she 
hands Dietenhofer his hat.) 

Father, I did tell you I had some women coming 
to-day, didn’t I! 


156 







ACT II 


Minick 

Well, well! Nothing to fuss about! 

Nettie 

Nothing to fuss about! Look at this room! 
Lula! 

Dietenhofer 


Well, ma’am, I assure you we’ve got our own 
place to go to- 

Nettie 

Lula! 

Price 

Maybe you want us to go. 

(Lula enters from the passage, carrying 
dustpan and whisk broom.) 


Nettie 

Here! Give me those! You go ahead with 
the sand-Why, you haven’t your uniform on! 


Lula 

Haven’t had time yet. I been- 

Nettie 

Well, go ahead! Don’t talk! It’s after 
three now! 

(Lula goes. Nettie calls after her.) 
And don’t forget to cut them very thin! 

(Kneels with dustpan and whisk broom in 
front of sofa.) 


157 





MINICK 


Minick 

I’ll do that for you. 

Nettie 

No, Father. You can help your friends on 
with their things. 


Dietenhofer 

It’s all right. Don’t trouble yourself. We 
can put them on. 

Minick 

(Eagerness in his tone) 

Coming around again to-morrow? I’ll be 
here. 

Dietenhofer 

Well, we’ll be pretty busy to-morrow. 

(Gets his coat.) 

Minick 

Well- 

Nettie 
(Whisking up ashes) 

And another thing! I was furious when I 
came home and found you were out. You 
weren’t fit to go out. 

Minick 


Well, it’s a good stroke I went, 
talk to you. 


I want to 
{Sniffles.) 


158 


ACT II 


Nettie 


Well, you see what’s happened—your cold’s 
worse. 


(Brushing at Price’s feet.) 
Your coat’s up there, Mr.—uh- 


Price 

Huh? Oh! 

(Moves at last to get it; he and Dieten- 
hofer struggle with their coats and 
mufflers.) 

Nettie 

Lula! Lula! 

(Goes into passage with broom and pan.) 

Dietenhofer 
(To Minick) 

Pretty high strung, ain’t she? 

Minick 

Oh, she don’t mean anything. 

Dietenhofer 

Well—they don’t ever mean anything, but— 
just the same- 

Price 

I had it. 

Dietenhofer 

You mull it over in your mind just in case that 
vacancy does happen to- 

159 





MINICK 


Nettie 

( Re-entering ) 

Are you all ready? 

Dietenhofer 

Well, ma’am, I wish you good-day. 

(Extends his hand.) 

Nettie 

Good-bye. 

(Is compelled to take his hand; otherwise 
he won't go.) 

Price 

(Also extending his hand) 

Good-bye. 

(She takes his hand; Dietenhofer crosses 
to the door.) 

Nettie 

Good-bye. Father, would you mind bringing 
in a few chairs from the dining room? 

(Minick starts for the dining room; 
Nettie quickly adds:) 

After you’ve seen your friends out. 

Dietenhofer 

(Stops; considers) 

Where did I put my rubbers? 

Nettie 

They’re not in here. Perhaps you can put 
them on outside. 

160 


ACT II 

Dietenhofer 

I know. They’re in the hall. 

Price 

That’s so—they are. 

(They go into the hallway .) 

Nettie 

(Crossing to the window, where she starts 
to straighten the shades.) 

Father, you will get them out of here, won’t 
you? 

Minick 

What do you think I found out this morning? 
Nettie 

I don’t know, Father. Tell me later. 
Minick 

What do you think Fred’s done? 

(You hear the noise of the old men 
stamping into their rubbers .) 

Nettie 

Please, Father. The meeting’ll be starting. 
Minick 

Fred’s gone into the business. 

Nettie 

(Turns quickly) 

What! How do you know? Mail-order! 
161 


MINICK 

Minick 

Yessir! And you and I got to stop him! 
Nettie 

But how do you know he’s gone into it? Who 
told you ? 

Minick 

Saw it on the door. Fred and Mr. Corey. 
Nettie 

Where? What door? 

Minick 

ii 17 Monadnock Building. What’ll we do! 
Nettie 

Monadnock Building—father, tell me some¬ 
thing. Did you- 

Dietenhofer 

( Re-entering ) 

Well, we’re going. 

Price 

{Re-entering; looks about)] 

Where’s my newspaper? 

Nettie 

What? 

Price 

I want my newspaper. 

162 



Photo by White Studio 

Minick: “Yes, sir! And you and I got to 
think of some way to stop him!” 











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• 1 



































ACT II 


Nettie 

What newspaper? 

Price 

My newspaper. Left it right here some 
place. 


Nettie 

Oh, please! Can’t you get another news¬ 
paper ! 


Price 

Get another? Only had this one an hour! 
Nettie 

(Almost beside herself f going near pas - 
sage) 

Lula! Lula! 

Minick 

I’ll get it. 

Nettie 

No, Father, keep out of the kitchen! 

(Lula, who has changed to her black 
dress, appears in passage door.) 


Lula 

Huh? 

Nettie 

Lula, get that newspaper I just- 
163 


MINICK 


(The doorbell rings. Her arms go out 
in a gesture to the heavens. She turns 
to Minick.) 

Now there you are! Lula, answer the door! 

It’s them. No—wait! Get your apron on! 

{Lula vanishes into passage; Nettie turns 
and sees that Price is standing immov¬ 
able.) 

Oh, I’ll get your paper! 

{To Minick.) 

You’ve got me just all unstrung! 

{Dashes off into passage.) 
{Dietenhofer discovers something the 
matter with one of his rubbers and finds 
that he must sit down to fix it. Price sits 
on sofa. Lula, fastening her apron, en¬ 
ters and crosses. She discovers that the 
apron is wrong side out; reverses it; ex¬ 
its into hall. Nettie rushes in from pas¬ 
sage carrying Price’s crumpled newspaper. 
Stuffs it under his arm.) 


Nettie 

{Peers into the hall to see who are com- 
ing.) 

And now if you- 

{Sees Dietenhofer is seated again.) 
Good heavens! 

{Dietenhofer rises; Nettie moves the 
chair.) 


164 



ACT II 


Mrs. Smallridge 

(Heard as the door opens:) 
Good afternoon! 


Nettie 

Now, Father, you see—here they are! 

(To the others.) 

Now you are going right out, aren’t you? 

(Price and Dietenhofer make for the 
hall, hut of course it is too late. Mrs. 
Smallridge and Miss Crackenwald enter. 
Miss Crackenwald is a spare and middle- 
aged spinster, rather hawk-faced and 
acid. One of those capable persons. 
Mrs. Smallridge is rotund, friendly, ma¬ 
tronly. Lula follows them on.) 

Mrs. Smallridge 

Good afternoon! Well! Are we the first? 
Nettie 

How are you, Mrs. Smallridge! Miss 
Crackenwald! 

Miss Crackenwald 

(Very crisp) 

Afternoon. 

Nettie 

Lula, take the ladies’ things. 

(The old men are edging toward the 

165 


MINICK 


door when Mrs. Smallridge, beaming, ad¬ 
dresses Minick.) 

Mrs. Smallridge 

Well, Mr. Minick! And how are you these 
dull November days! 

(She has a trick of laughing a nervous 
mirthless semi-laugh at the end of her 
sentences, followed by an intaking of the 
breath which is very annoying to the lis¬ 
tener. Her intention is kindly, always. 
Too kindly.) 

Manage to keep happy? That’s good. 

(Lula has taken Miss Crackenwald’s coat.) 


Miss Crackenwald 

I’ll keep my hat on. 

(Lula goes to Mrs. Smallridge.) 

Minick 


Oh, I manage. 
Well! 


(Turns to the men.) 


Mrs. Smallridge 

(In the tone of one addressing a small boy:) 

I suppose these are friends of yours come to 
while away a rainy afternoon. I remember 
when Mr. Smallridge’s poor dear father was 
with us, how he loved to have his friends in. 
My! Bright and active right up to the last day. 

166 


ACT II 

Minick 
(Expanding a little) 

Yes. Yessir! I’d like you to meet these gen¬ 
tlemen. . . . Mr. Eugene Dietenhofer—Mrs.— 
uh- 

Mrs. Smallridge 

(Prompts him) 

Mrs. Smallridge. 

(One of her indrawn laughs.) 
Minick 

And Mr. J. W. Price. 

Dietenhofer 
Pleased to meet you. 

Price 

Pleased to make your acquaintance. 

(Nettie is politely dying in the background.) 

Minick 

(Not wishing to ignore the other guest) 
And this is Mrs. ? . . . 

Miss Crackenwald 

(Solid ice) 

Miss Crackenwald. 

Minick 

Miss? 

167 



MINICK 


Nettie 


Father! 


(To the others.) 

These gentlemen were just going. 


Mrs. Smallridge 

Well, I hope we aren’t chasing you away. 
Bundle up good and warm. It’s very penetrat¬ 
ing out. 

{At this point Miss Crackenwald turns 
stiffly away and paces up and down, 
weighty affairs of her own on her mind.) 


Price 

{Throws back his coat. Displays a ma¬ 
roon sweater with a great white C em¬ 
broidered on it.) 

Never fear. Got m’ grandson’s sweater on. 


Mrs. Smallridge 

That’s wise. You know Lake Michigan in 
November. 


Dietenhofer 

{Catches Miss Crackenwald’s eye.) 

I always wear a good piece of old-fashioned 
flannel right inside my underwear. 

{Unbuttons part of his shirt to show this 
in triumph. Miss Crackenwald’s eye¬ 
brows go up slightly.) 

168 


ACT II 


Nettie 

I’m afraid I must ask you to go now. The 
meeting is going to get under way. 


Dietenhofer 
Well, good-bye. 


Good-bye. 


Mrs. Smallridge 
Price 


(Starts off.) 


Well, I hope—— 

(He never finishes; Nettie propels him 
out; Dietenhofer and Price go into the 
hall; Minick takes them to the door. 


Nettie turns to Miss Crackenwald with a 
little semi-exclamation of apology and 
relief.) 

Nettie 

Well—won’t you sit down? 

Miss Crackenwald 

(Glances at her wrist watch, crosses to the 
sofa and sits stiffly on the edge.) 

After three. Do they all know the meeting’s 
been shifted here? 

Nettie 

I notified them. 

(The doorbell rings.) 


169 



MINICK 


Mrs. Smallridge 

Clara Whitney took sick very suddenly, didn’t 
she? This flu. Do you know, I remarked the 

last time I saw her- 

Lil 

(Looks in from hall) 

Hello, Net! 

Nettie 

Hello, Lil! Lula! 

(Beckons Lula to take Lil } s wraps. Lil 
enters; Nettie sits.) 

Lil 

How do you do, ladies? 

{A meaning look toward the hall and then 
to Nettie.) 

I see you’ve been entertaining. 

(Lula crosses and goes of. Lil sits.) 

Nettie 

Yes. I—I hope no one’s been inconvenienced 
by the change in plans. 

Minick 

( Re-enters from hall and starts to sit.) 
Well! Starting to gather, huh? 

Nettie 

(Checking him with her words) 

Father, you were going to bring in the chairs. 

170 



ACT II 


Minick 

All right. All right. 

{As he goes to the dining room:) 
What’s the meeting about? Something im¬ 
portant? 

{He goes into the dining room.) 


Simultaneously 


Miss Crackenwald 

I don’t see why peo¬ 
ple can’t be on time. I 
was here on time and 
I’ve had a very full cal¬ 
endar to-day. And my 
head is simply splitting. 


Nettie 

{Sotto voce to 
Lil) 

Lil, I must talk to 
you. 

Lil 

What’s the matter? 


Nettie 


{Rising) 

I’m so sorry. Why don’t you take your hat off 
and be comfortable? Go right back into my 
room. You’ll find everything. Lula! 

Mrs. Smallridge 


I’ll show her. 

{Rising:) 

Don’t bother Lula. I know how it is. Why 
don’t you take an asperin, Miss Crackenwald? 

Miss Crackenwald 

{Following her: stonily) 

I’ve had six. 


171 


MINICK 


(They both disappear into the passage. 
Minick enters from the dining room with 
two chairs and places them in front of 
the sofa.) 

Nettie 

(Crossing to Lil) 

Did you know the boys were in business? 

(Minick listens, chair in hand.) 


Business? 


Lil 


Minick 

What are you going to do about it? 

Nettie 

(Silences him with a gesture) 

Did you know that Fred and Jim had gone 
ahead with that crazy mail-order scheme? 

Lil 

They haven’t! 

Nettie 


They have! 

Lil 

I don’t believe it! How do you know? 


Minick 

I found it out- 


172 


ACT II 


Nettie 

Father Minick! Monadnock Building! Saw 
it on the door! 


Lil 

What are you talking about? 

Nettie 

I’m telling you that Fred has probably taken 
every penny we’ve got in the world— 

(The doorbell rings.) 

—and dumped it into this—this idiotic- 

Minick 

Yessir! 


Lil 

Then Jim has too. Net, if he has- 

(Mrs. Smallridge and Miss Crackenwald 
return, talking. Lula follows them on, 
crosses and exits into hallway.) 

Miss Crackenwald 
(Talking as she enters) 

... in view of the rather exhaustive sur¬ 
vey-Still nobody else here? 


Nettie 

(Following Lula into the hall) 
Here is some one now. 


173 




MINICK 

Mrs. Smallridge 
(To Minick) 

Helping to do your bit, I see. 

Minick 

That’s two. Got two more. 

(Goes back to dining room, as Mrs. Lip- 
pincott and Miss Stack enter from the 
hall; Lula takes their coats .) 

Mrs. Lippincott is a general. Hers is the 
executive mind. She thinks nationally. 
Her dream is an office in the National Fed¬ 
eration of Women’s Clubs. A woman of 
about forty-eight. She plays a crafty 
game. Runs to plumes. 

Miss Stack is a sycophant. She lobbies 
for Mrs. Lippincott. About ten years 
younger than her leader. A bit shabby. 

Mrs. Lippincott 
How do you do, ladies! 

Miss Stack 

How-do! 

(The other women return the greeting. 
Nettie brings several stacks of papers 
from the desk to the presiding table.) 

Miss Crackenwald 
WeVe been holding the meeting for you. 

174 


ACT II 


Mrs. Lippincott 

I think you know, Miss Crackenwald, that if 
there’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s punctu¬ 
ality. Miss Stack and I had to go to Clara Whit¬ 
ney’s to learn that the meeting had been trans¬ 
ferred here. 

Miss Stack 

Mrs. Minick seems to have forgotten to 
notify us. 

Nettie 

But I did! I left messages at both your 
homes. I spent the morning telephoning. 

Mrs. Lippincott 

That’s strange. My secretary is generally 
very reliable. 

(Minick returns with two more chairs .) 

Miss Crackenwald 

I don’t think we should wait for the rest. 

Mrs. Smallridge 

Yes—let’s begin. 

Mrs. Lippincott 

I don’t know why we couldn’t have met at my 
house, as long as Clara Whitney was sick. 

Nettie 

Shall we start now? 


175 


MINICK 


Mrs. Lippincott 
{Coldly) 

How can we start without a quorum, Mrs. 
Minick? 

Nettie 

That’s true. We haven’t, have we? 

Miss Stack 

We have only six. Seven is a quorum. 

Lil 

Well, now I know Marge Diamond is coming. 
I spoke to her this morning. Can’t we sort of 
kind of start, meanwhile? 

Mrs. Smallridge 

I don’t think it would hurt, this once. We 
don’t have to be so strict. I move that we go 
ahead and start. 

Lil 

I second the motion. 

Mrs. Lippincott 

You can’t introduce a motion until the meet¬ 
ing’s called to order. 

Mrs. Smallridge 
{Bewildered) 

Then how are we going to start? 

{Minick has followed all this with breath - 

17 6 


ACT II 


less interest } his glance leaping from one 
face to the other as the talk progresses.) 

Nettie 

What is your pleasure, ladies, in this matter? 
Mrs. Diamond is coming eventually. 

Mrs. Smallridge 
Isn’t there some way we can start? 

Mrs. Lippincott 

We could, under Section Five, Article Eight, 
suspend the rules with the unanimous consent of 
the assemblage. 

(Miss Crackenwald sits. From two of 
three of those assembled: “All right ” 
“Yes.” “Well, why don't we?”) 

Minick 

What’s the meeting going to be about, anyway? 
(They all look at him. A look from 
Nettie to Lil that says, “Help me!” A 
little buzz of conversation in the group.) 

Nettie 

Thanks for bringing in the chairs, Father. 

(A gesture that tries to dismiss him.) 

Minick 

That’s all right, Nettie, my girl. 

177 


MINICK 


Lil 

(Goes to him.) 

Now, Mr. Minick, you don’t want to stay and 
listen to a lot of dull business, do you? Why 
don’t you take a nap? 

Minick 

Just got up. Don’t want to sleep my life away. 


Mrs. Lippincott 

(Sits) 

I think we can begin now, Madame Chairman! 
(Miss Stack sits beside Mrs. Lippincott .) 


Nettie 


I shall call the meeting in a moment, Mrs. Lip¬ 
pincott. 


(Goes to Minick.) 


Miss Crackenwald 


It’s getting later and later. 

Nettie 

(To Minick, in an undertone) 

Father, you don’t want to stay here, do you? 


Minick 

I like it here. 

Nettie 

You’ll have to be very quiet. 

178 


ACT II 


Minick 

I will. Quiet as a mouse. 

(Goes to an easy chair, far removed from 
the centre of things, and sits.) 


Mrs. Smallridge 
(To Miss Stack) 

This is a pretty room, isn’t it? With the park 
and all. 

Miss Stack 


Y-yes. 


(It seems easier to agree.) 


Nettie 

(Taps three times with the gavel.) 
Ladies! 

(They are all attention.) 
The meeting will please come to order. The— 
uh—first business of the day is the reading of the 
minutes of the previous meeting. 

(Drops into sudden informality.) 
Oh, Marge isn’t here. 


Miss Crackenwald 
Why she was ever made secretary! 

Nettie 

We can defer the reading of the minutes until 
Mrs. Diamond gets here. Is there any unfinished 
business? 


179 


MINICK 


Mrs. Lippincott 

(Leaps to her feet.) 

Madam Chairman! 

Nettie 

Mrs. Lippincott? 

Mrs. Lippincott 

I call for the orders of the day. I believe the 
chair is in error. 

Nettie 

Oh! 

Mrs. Lippincott 

Failing the reading of the minutes the next busi¬ 
ness is the Reports of Boards and Standing Com¬ 
mittees, followed by Reports of Special Select 
Committees and Special Orders. Then, and not 
until then, comes Unfinished Business. 

Nettie 

The Chair stands corrected. 

(Mrs. Lippincott sits.) 

Minick 

(Impressed) 

Gosh! 

(Every head turns toward him.) 
Nettie 
(Consulting a paper) 

We’ll have the sub-committee reports. The 
sub-committee on Playgrounds- 

180 


ACT II 


(Her voice drops from its official note to 
an everyday tone.) 

Oh, that’s Clara Whitney, and of course she’s 
sick. . . . Well, then, the report of the sub¬ 
committee on Juvenile Delinquency- 

(Her voice drops again.) 
Now I talked to Emma Osgood over the ’phone 
this morning and she said she’d positively be here. 
Of course she lives way over north. 

Mrs. Smallridge 
Tries to do too much. 


Miss Stack 

(Searching among her papers) 

Mrs. Osgood asked me to say that she will sub¬ 
mit her Juvenile Delinquency report at the next 
meeting- 

(Rises.) 

She has had some difficulty in verifying her statis¬ 
tics on— 

(Referring to her paper) 
Group C, boys of fifteen and sixteen. 

Nettie 

Oh—well—thank you. 

(Miss Stack sits.) 

Minick 

(Rises and takes a step down.) 

Say, I’ll tell you a good one on Fred time he 
was fifteen! He- 

181 





MINICK 


Nettie 

(Her finger to her lips f recalling his 
promise to he quiet.) 

Father, remember you- 

Minick 


That’s right. That’s right. 

Nettie 


(Sits.) 


Well—“sub-committee on Home Survey”— 
anyway, you’re here, Miss Crackenwald. 


Miss Crackenwald 


I am. 


Nettie 


(A little buzz of talk has broken out.) 
Ladies! We will now listen to- 

Miss Crackenwald 


(Rising and clipping a tremendous pair 
of eyeglasses on to her nose.) 

Madam Chairman—I was asked- 

(The telephone rings. Miss Crackenwald 
pauses.) 

Nettie 

I’m awfully sorry. 

(Minick half rises to answer. Nettie 
waves him back.) 

182 





ACT II 


Never mind, Father. 

(Goes to telephone.) 

Hello! ... 

A Woman’s Voice 
Is this Drexel 4269? 

Nettie 

Yes! 

Voice 

Is Mrs. Diamond there? 

Nettie 

No, Mrs. Diamond’s not here. We’re wait¬ 
ing for her ourselves. 

Mrs. Lippincott 

(Aside, to Miss Stack) 

We’re not getting anything done. 

Voice 

What? 

Nettie 

I say we’re waiting for her ourselves. 

Voice 

Well, the minute she comes in tell her to call 
up her home. It’s important. 

Nettie 

Her home? Don’t you know where she is? 

183 


MINICK 


Voice 

She expected to go to your house. 

Nettie 

{Annoyed) 

All right. I’ll tell her to call you. 

{Hangs up. Comes back to her chair.) 
I’m so sorry. For Marge, of course. 

(There is a little buzz of talk. The meet¬ 
ing has become slightly disorganised. 
Nettie again raps for order.) 

Ladies! The meeting will come to order. 

Miss Crackenwald 

{She has quite a sheaf of papers in her 
hands. As she begins to speak, and dur¬ 
ing her opening sentence, she is intent on 
these papers, shifting them, glancing 
through them, rearranging them.) 

I was asked, on August the tenth of the current 
year, to undertake a survey of some of the homes 
in the districts where conditions— 

{Lula appears in doorway. She is flying 
distress signals. She beckons to Nettie, 
pantomiming meanwhile. Nettie shakes 
her head in negation and tries to make 
Lula vanish with a glance. Lula per¬ 
sists.) 

—demand attention, with a view to evolving a 
new plan for establishing between parents and 
children that bond which is so necessary if we are 
to develop a real American citizenry in the gener- 

184 


ACT II 


ation now flowering into manhood and woman¬ 
hood. Accordingly, on the morning of the six¬ 
teenth of August- 

(Here she notices that she has lost her 
audience. One by one they have been 
turning as they caught the sibilant sounds 
from Lula, and noted Nettie’s pantomimic 
response. Miss Crackenwald looks over 
her shoulder, annoyed. 

Lil has risen and has joined in the panto¬ 
mime in an effort to shoo Lula off. Lula 
is insistent. The interruption is now a 
definite one. Obviously it demands Net¬ 
tie’s attention. Lula is hissing (( I got to 
see you about the sandwiches . . . sand¬ 
wiches” ... You catch the word in all 
its sibilance, “sandwiches!”) 

Minick 

(To Nettie) 

Lula wants to talk to you. 

Nettie 

(Rises and crosses, defeated.) 

I’m terribly sorry, everybody. I won’t be a 

second . . . Lula, what do you mean- 

(Lula exits, followed by Nettie, who slams 
the door. An embarrassed silence.) 

Miss Stack 

The meeting should have been at your house, 
Mrs. Lippincott. 


185 




MINICK 


Lil 

Well, you know Nettie has had a great deal to 
put up with to-day, Miss Stack. 

Miss Crackenwald 
I might as well sit down. 

(Does so.) 

Minick 

(Rises and comes down to Mrs. Lippin- 
cott.) 

Well! Kind of a recess, eh? I’m Fred’s fa¬ 
ther. I don’t think I caught your name. 

Mrs. Lippincott 
Mrs. Thornton Lippincott. 

(She turns away.) 

Minick 

Well, anyway, about Fred. I was going to 
tell you- 

Nettie 

(Re-enters flustered, apologetic, almost 
tearful.) 

I don’t know what I can say to you. . . . 
Stupid maid. . . . It’s been a terrible day! 

(Motions Minick back to his seat; goes 
to chair, assumes again the role of chair¬ 
man. 

Miss Stack takes a few folded sheets of 
186 



ACT II 


paper from her bag and fans herself } look¬ 
ing about to see if a door or window can't 
be opened.) 

Mrs. Smallridge 
’Tis close, isn’t it? 

Nettie 

Come to order, ladies! We were—uh—we 
were just taking up- 

Miss Stack 

(Rises suddenly; at same instant Miss 
Crackenwald does likewise; they speak 
simultaneously.) 

Madam Chairman! 


Miss Crackenwald 
Madam Chairman! 

Nettie 

Miss—uh- 

Minick 

(Points to Miss Stack) 

She was up first. The little one! 


Father! 


Nettie 
Miss Stack? 


move- 


Miss Stack 

I rise to a point of personal privilege. I 
(The doorbell rings.) 

187 





MINICK 

Marge 


(Off) 

May I come in! 

Nettie 

Oh, it’s Mrs. Diamond now! 


Marge 

( Enters ) 

Hello, everybody! Not late, am I? 

(She was never anything else in her life, 
of course.) 


Only an hour. 

Hello, Marge! 
Hello, Lil! 


Nettie 

Lil 

Marge 


Mrs. Lippincott 

Please! I have a most important engagement 
at five. 

Nettie 

Marge, you knew we were meeting at three. 
Being secretary, it seems to me you might at 
least- 


Marge 

I’m sorry—I was held up. And I can’t stay. 
18 8 



ACT II 


I promised Natalie Gaige I’d look in at the Blake 
reception. 

Nettie 

You’ ve got to stay. 

Miss Stack 

We haven’t a quorum without you. 


Marge 

But Irma’s waiting downstairs in the elec¬ 
tric. 

(Minick goes up to the window.) 

Miss Crackenwald 
Well, really! 

Lil 


Now, Marge Diamond, listen to me! If 
the rest of us are willing to give our time 
surely you ought to have some sense of responsi¬ 
bility. 


Mrs. Smallridge 


I have two utter strangers coming to dinner— 
business friends of Mr. Smallridge—and a maid 
that doesn’t know her head from a hole in the 
ground, yet here I am! 


Lil 

You sit right down in that chair, Marge 
Diamond. 


189 


MINICK 


Marge 

( Trapped, but still fighting. Turns back 
her glove cuff to consult wrist watch.) 

I can stay just—five minutes and not a 
second- 

Minick 


(Pointing out of the window) 

There’s your friend! You can see her right 
from here. 

Marge 

Oh! 

(Before they can stop her she is off to the 
window, has thrown it open, the wind 
swoops through the room, scattering 
papers. Calls, leaning out:) 

Yoohoo! Irma! Yoohoo! Listen! 

{Laboured.) 

I’ve got to stay five minutes. 

{More laboured, and with longer intervals 
between the words.) 

I’ve—got—to—stay—five—MINUTES! Will 
you wait for me! Wait for me ! 

{Slams down the window.) 


Nettie 

{As the window is opened clutches the 
flying papers again.) 

Oh, my goodness! Marge! Marge, put 
down that window! 

{During the remainder of Marge’s lines, 


190 


ACT II 


Nettie is standing holding down the papers 
on her desk. Having finished, Marge 
slams down the window y turns hack to 
Nettie.) 

Marge 

What? What did you say? 

Nettie 

Oh, nothing, Marge! Won’t you please sit 
down now? 

Marge 

(Outraged dignity) 

I am! I- 

(Seats herself. Looks about with an in¬ 
jured air.) 

Well—why don’t you go ahead! 

(Miss Crackenwald clears her throat.) 

Nettie 

With Mrs. Diamond here now- 

Minick 


Say! There was a party called you up on the 
telephone. 

Nettie 

Father! 


Minick 

(To Nettie) 

You forgot. 


191 




MINICK 


Nettie 

Father! It wasn’t important, Marge. 
Now-- 


Marge 

(Rises) 

Who was it? 


Nettie 

It wasn’t anything. 


Minick 

I remember. It was her house. 

(Marge goes to ’phone.) 
Your house called you up. Wants you to call 
them. 


Marge 


Why didn’t you- 

(Into ’phone.) 

Dorchester 1653. 

(To the others.) 
Mama’s taking care of Melville. It’s Miss 
Eaton’s day out. I hope- 


Nettie 

Oh, dear! Well, the question is, shall we go 
back and have the minutes read now that Mrs. 
Diamond has come? 


192 





ACT II 


SIMULTANEOUSLY 


Mrs. Stack 
{Jumping up) 

I move that the min¬ 
utes be read. 

Mrs. Smallridge 

I second the motion. 

Nettie 

It’s been moved and 
seconded that we go 
back and have the Re¬ 
cording Secretary read 
the minutes. Are there 
any remarks? 

Miss Crackenwald 

Well, it does seem 
to me- 

Nettie 

Miss Crackenwald? 
{With a gesture 
of futility Miss 
Crackenw aid 
sits.) 

All those in favour 
say Aye. 

{M esdames 
Lippincott, 


Marge 

Yes, that’s right. . . . 
Hulda, this is Mrs. 
Diamond. . . . Listen, 
did Mother call me? 
. . . This is Mrs. Di¬ 
amond! Did Mother 
call me? . . . Mother, 
what do you . . . 
What’s the matter with 
him? . . . Well, what? 
. . . Not the big one 
in the hall! Oh! 
Well, where were you. 
. . . You brought up 
children of your own! 
. . . I don’t see why 
. . . with what? . . . 
Every time you stay 
with him ... let me 
talk to him . . . 
Oh! . . . 


193 




MINICK 


Stack and Small- 
ridge, and Lit: 

“Aye." A 
gusty breath of 
remons trance 
from Miss 
Crackenwald.) 

Opposed? 

Miss Crackenwald 
No. 

Nettie 

The motion is car- 
ried. . . . Marge! 

Marge! ... Oh! . . . 

Marge 

Just a minute, Nettie. . . . Melville ,. . . 
Meville, this is Mama. What were you do¬ 
ing in the hall in the first place? . . . But you’re 
not allowed to ride your velocipede out there. 
. . . That was one of Mama’s nicest lamps. 
. . . Now don’t cry! Stop that crying, Melville, 
and tell me. . . . Talk plainly. Take your 
fingers out of your mouth. . . . Well, what have 
you got in your mouth? . . . Good heavens! 
. . . Take it out! Take it out this minute, 
Mother says. And listen to me. You can’t have 
your velocipede again for a long, long time. 
And what’s more I’m going to tell Father when 
he comes home. You’re a naughty, naughty boy! 
(Hangs up the receiver. Turns to the 
others.) 


194 


ACT II 


My Chinese lamp that A 1 gave me for my 
anniversary. 

Nettie 

That’s too bad. But really we’ve got to get 
on. We’ve just voted to go back and have you 
read the minutes. 

Marge 


What minutes? 

Nettie 

Marge! Your minutes. The minutes of the 
last meeting. 

Marge 

Why, I didn’t think this was a regular meet¬ 
ing, Nettie. When Hulda gave me your mes¬ 
sage— 

Nettie 

Do you mean to say you didn’t bring them? 

Marge 

I had no idea you’d want them to-day. I 
thought it was sort of a special meeting. 

Minick 

Didn’t she bring it? 

Mrs. Lippincott 

Can’t we get on, then? . . . Miss Cracken- 
wald! 


(Miss Crackenwald rises.) 
195 



MINICK 

Nettie 

Yes, please. 

Miss Crackenwald 

Well, if I may be assured of a few uninter¬ 
rupted moments. 

(Looks at Marge; Marge sits in desk 
chair .) 

{Reads.) 

Following the collapse of the plan to bring par¬ 
ents and children together in closer accord 
through the medium of the school house—I was 
asked, on August tenth of the current year— 
{Here Marge rises, goes to ’phone stool, 
Nettie motions her to sit. Miss Crack¬ 
enwald sees her and repeats:) 

—of the current year— 

{Marge sits on the ’phone stool and 
smiles at Miss Crackenwald, apparently 
all attention now.) 

—to undertake a survey of some of the homes 
in the districts where conditions demand special 
attention, with a view to evolving a new plan for 
establishing between parents and children that 
bond which is so necessary. This is indeed a 
most vital work. As our Federation president, 
Louisa Stout Breckenridge, said so concisely— 
{Punctuates the word with a gesture.) 
in her keynote speech at the convention in Spring- 
field, “The youth of to-day is the citizen of to¬ 
morrow.” 


196 


ACT II 


(Marge has been edging toward door and 
now quietly tiptoes into hallway.) 

It is with the training of that youth that we 
concern ourselves here to-day. 

(Marge slams outer door.) 
And how can we better bring that about than by 
encouraging that youth to emulate the admirable 
qualities of that sturdy stock from which has—uh 
—sprung—the people who make up our popula¬ 
tion to-day—who make up our population to-day. 
(Shuffles three or four sheets of her 
paper but resumes reading from the top 
sheet again. 

Lula enters from the dining room carry¬ 
ing a silver platter of fancy sandwiches 
and pitcher of orange juice with glasses. 
These she places on table. It is a quiet 
entrance, but the plates as they are set 
down clatter a little.) 

Now—uh— 

(Her platform voice and manner return.) 
our problem, then, specifically, is to inculcate in 
the new generation a greater love and affection 
for the traditions of the old. As the logical 
medium for the furtherance of this ideal con¬ 
dition we have hit upon the Home. Bring 
Parent and Child together in the Home. Keep 
the child in the home by making that home more 
attractive than the streets—more entertaining 
than the motion picture palace—more alluring 
than the dance hall. To this end let us adopt 

197 


/ 


MINICK 


as our slogan, “Every Home a Club.” Let us 
launch the Every Home a Club Movement. 
The boy and girl will not wander from the fire¬ 
side if it holds for him the same games and 
pastimes that he is offered in the billiard par¬ 
lours and pool rooms, in the corner drug or cigar 
stores- 

Minick 

(Has been growing more and more in¬ 
terested and restless during this speech; 
now reaches the point where he can no 
longer contain himself.) 

Now right there is where you’re all wrong! 

Nettie 

Father! You must not interrupt. You must 
not- 


Minick 

Now, now! You’re on the wrong track and 
I can prove it to you! 


Nettie 

Father, not now! You can’t! 


Simultaneously 


Minick 

I can so! Yessir! 
Because now you’re 
talking about something 
I’ve seen with my own 


(All the women 
rise in indigna¬ 
tion. Nettie 
gives up the 
fight.) 




ACT II 


eyes! And this was it! 
There were six Has- 
sauer boys that lived 
right across the street 
from us in Blooming¬ 
ton—Nettie, you’ve 

heard Fred talk of ’em 
—as fine boys as ever 
you’d want to see—but 
run, run, run every 
night. Eat their sup¬ 
per and out. Got so 
their pa and ma prac¬ 
tically never saw ’em. 
So they got the idea of 
buying a billiard table 
to keep ’em in—had 
one sent down from 

Chicago- 

(turns and finds 
he has suddenly 
lost his audi¬ 
ence .) 

What you doing? 
Busting up? I hope I 
ain’t discouraged you. 
Plenty other good work 
you girls can do. 


Mrs. Lippincott 

This is really- 

Miss Stack 

Yes, indeed! 

Miss Crackenwald 

Mrs. Minick, I’m 
afraid I shall have to 

go- 

(Exits to Net¬ 
tie’s room for 
her hat.) 

Mrs. Lippincott 

{Turning to 
Net and Lil:) 

I move that we ad¬ 
journ until the twenty- 
second and meet at my 
house. 

Lil 

I don’t think that’s 
in order, Mrs. Lippin¬ 
cott. 

Mrs. Lippincott 

A motion to adjourn 
is always in order, 
Mrs. Corey. 


199 




MINICK 


(Mrs. Lippincott indignantly sweeps to- 
ward door right and exits.) 

Mrs. Smallridge 

(As she crosses.) 

Are we going? 

(Follows the others out.) 

(Miss Crackenwald re-enters and crosses.) 

Minick 

(Turns and sees Miss Crackenwald.) 
You’ve got a good head on you! 

Mrs. Lippincott 

(Re-enters, her coat half on.) 

Good-day, Mrs. Minick. 

Miss Stack 

(Following her leader as always.) 
Good-day, Mrs. Minick. 

Miss Crackenwald 
Good afternoon. 

(Fred enters from the hall. He is home 
from the office, the evening paper in his 
hand. He is wearing a light-coloured 
overcoat and soft grey hat. He takes off 
the latter as he enters.) 


200 


ACT II 


Fred 

Well, well! I didn’t know this was going on. 
Hello there, ladies! 

(To Miss Crackenwald, who stands in 
the doorway as he enters.) 

Howdy-do, Miss Crackenwald! 

(Extends his hand, which she takes frigidly .) 

Mrs. Smallridge 

Good evening, Mr. Minick. My, it must be 
late! 

(Miss Lippincott and Miss Stack start for 
right, followed more slowly by Mrs. 
Smallridge, whose coat is still in the hall.) 

Fred 

Oh, not going, are you! 

Mrs. Lippincott 
I’m afraid we must. 

{As she passes him.) 


Fred 

Well, I’m sorry ! I’d ask you all to stay to 
dinner, only I’ve been married long enough to 
know better. 

{To Nettie.) 

Haven’t I, old lady! 

{Pats her shoulder, gives it a little 
squeeze. Looks at her. In undertone:) 
What’s the matter? 


201 


MINICK 


Nettie 

(Pushes him away.) 

Please! 

Miss Crackenwald 

Good-day! 

(Miss Crackenwald, Mrs. Lippincott, and 
Miss Stack go of. Fred senses some¬ 
thing strained in the atmosphere. As the 
door slams he looks at Nettie inquiringly> 
and at Lil.) 

Minick 

Say! Here’s the sandwiches. The ladies for¬ 
got to eat the sandwiches. 

(Is standing over them f investigating their 
contents . Now takes one f begins to eat.) 

Fred 

Anything wrong? 

Lil 

Net’ll tell you all about it. 

(Goes to hall for coat.) 
(Mrs. Smallridge re-enters, buttoning coat.) 

Mrs. Smallridge 
Well, good-bye, Nettie. 

(Her nervous laugh.) 
Nettie 


Good-bye. 


202 


ACT II 


Mrs. Smallridge 
(To Minick) 

Good-bye, Mr. Minick. That’s right. Feed 
a cold and starve a fever. 

Minick 

(Rather incoherent, his mouth full of 
sandwiches. Nods and swallows rap¬ 
idly.) 

You want to try one of these. Pretty good. 
Mrs. Smallridge 

Well, I don’t want to spoil my dinner. I have 
some friends of Mr. Smallridge’s coming and— 
Well, good-bye. Good-bye, Fred. Good-bye, 
Nettie. 

(Lil has re-entered, is putting on her coat.) 
Such a nice meeting. 

(Goes.) 

Minick 

(Discovers a new variety of sandwich.) 
H’m! Tomato! 

Fred 

What’s eating you girls, anyhow? 

Lil 

Can I do anything for you, Net? 

Nettie 


No, thanks. 


203 


MINICK 


Lil 

I’ll ’phone you right after dinner, and I’ll 
probably bring Jim over. Good-bye. Good-bye, 
Fred. 

(Exits.) 

Fred 

For heaven’s sakes, Net, why the martyr stuff? 
What’s the matter? 

Nettie 

Don’t speak to me! 

Fred 

Don’t be so tragic. What’s happened? 
Minick 

Fred, Nettie and I want to talk to you. 

Fred 

Huh? 

(Still bewildered.) 

Nettie 

(In desperation) 

Father Minick, won’t you please leave Fred and 
me alone, now! 

Fred 

(A look at Nettie.) 

Perhaps you’d better, Dad. 

204 


ACT II 


Minick 

(Starts toward passage .) 

Well, all right. But I want to talk to vou. 
Yessir! 

{He goes to his room.) j 

Nettie 

Oh! 

Fred 

For God’s sake, Nettie, what is this all about! 


Nettie 

{Regards him rather wildly a moment .) 
About! 

{Her voice breaking:) 
I’ll tell you what it’s about! It’s about you and 
him and me and everything else! That’s what 
it’s about! 

{Is half crying.) 

Fred 


Well, what have I—has Father done some¬ 
thing? What is it? 


Nettie 
{Now deadly calm) 

It’s just this, Fred Minick. I was good 
enough for you to bring your father into this 
house and saddle him on me all day long, every 
day—good enough to have him humiliate me be¬ 
fore all these women and probably lose me my 

205 


MINICK 


chairmanship that it’s taken me months—and that 
Mrs. Lippincott—the audacity- 

Fred 

(Crosses to her and puts his arm around 
her to comfort her.) 

Oh, Nettie—I’m terribly sorry. Now, you’re 
just tired. 

Nettie 

(Pushes him away.) 

Oh, yes! I was good enough for that! But 
when it came to confiding in your wife that you 
were risking God knows how much money in a 
business that you don’t know any more about than 
a child—that’s different, I suppose! 

Fred 

{A sigh. He knows the storm is upon him.) 

Oh, God! 

Nettie 

And I suppose everybody in town would have 
known it before me if your father hadn’t just 
stumbled on it- 

Fred 

Father! What does he know? He 
doesn’t- 

Nettie 

And this afternoon! Not only does that 

206 





ACT II 


lovely news about you and Jim come just as I’m 
expecting them for a most important meeting be¬ 
cause that Clara Whitney-Sick! is she! 

(Throws a chair to one side and flings her¬ 
self upon sofa.) 

—Well, look at me! I’m sick—sick and tired 
of being the one to sacrifice, and suffer, and then 
not even be told what my own husband is doing! 

Fred 

Now, Nettie, this thing is as safe as a bank! 
What’s the use of getting all worked up about 
nothing? 

Nettie 

Nothing! Oh, it’s nothing, is it? Nothing 
for me to have been humiliated this afternoon as 
no woman was ever humiliated before in the 
world! I’ll never be able to face any of those 
women again! Do you suppose they’ll let me go 
to the convention at Springfield after what hap¬ 
pened in this house this afternoon? 

Fred 

For God’s sake, what did happen? 

Nettie 

What happened ? I’ll tell you what happened 1 
Your father disgraced me in front of all those 
women; he offended one of the biggest women in 
club work to-day! Well, I’ve stood a good deal 

207 



MINICK 


in the six months he’s been here—yes, and from 
you too—but I’ve reached the end— 

(Rises.) 

—do you understand me? I’ve reached the end! 

Fred 

(Crosses to her.) 

Nettie, you’re making an awful fuss about noth¬ 
ing! You’re- 

Nettie 

(Turning on him) 

Nothing? Oh, I suppose everything is noth¬ 
ing to you! It was nothing when I had to sit on 
that hotel porch with him and those terrible old 
women for weeks last summer, while you went 
off on your fishing trips! And it was nothing 
that I had to entertain that miserable Phil 
What’s-his-name in this house till I thought I’d 
go crazy- 

Fred 

Now let me tell you something! Phil Lem¬ 
ming is one of the whitest men in Chicago, and 
he’s gone through for me a dozen times! 

Nettie 

He’s a good-for-nothing drunken loafer, that’s 
what he is, and so’s his wife! 

Fred 

Oh! And how about your friend Bessie 
208 




ACT II 


Cowan, or whatever her name was, that was run¬ 
ning in here all summer? I suppose she was a 
sweet young thing, wasn’t she? 

Nettie 

She didn’t do anything to you! If I’d ever 
made you put up with one-tenth of the things that 
you’ve made me endure, I tell you I’d have heard 
about it long ago! 

Fred 

Oh, I hear about it! 

Nettie 

Well, all I can say is that your father and the 
way he’s behaved here this afternoon is the last 
straw! And I want to know what you’re g6ing 
to do about it! 

Fred 

Oh, Nettie, don’t talk silly! Just because- 

Nettie 

I mean it! What is there in it for me, any¬ 
how? I was doing very well before I ever mar¬ 
ried you! I was earning my own good living, 
and I can do it again! Where am I now! 
There isn’t a girl in the crowd but what has twice 
as many clothes as I have! I’ve gone out in 
that green chiffon until I’d think even you’d feel 
ashamed! And now what thanks do I get ? You 
take every cent we’ve got and throw it away- 

209 




MINICK 


Fred 

I haven’t thrown it away! You’re going 
to- 

Nettie 

And now, on top of it all, I have to put up 
with this! 

(Waves a hand that is meant to indicate 
Minick, goes down and starts returning 
articles from bookcase to smoking table.) 
I can’t even have my own home to myself any 
more! You know what pride I took in fixing it 
up—nobody enjoyed having friends in more than 
I did! And I was the one that made them want 
to come—you never made any effort! But 
they’ve been coming less and less, haven’t they? 
Even you must have noticed that. And pretty 
soon they won’t be coming at all. 

(Has taken gavel from smoking table and 
is putting it on bookcase, when the full 
import of her last words sinks in. She 
turns and goes to him and speaks very 
deliberately.) 

Well, before that happens I want to tell you 
something. I’m through! Either he goes out 
of this house or I do, and you can take your 
choice. 

(Starts to cross.) 

Fred 

(Stopping her) 

Oh, now, you know you don’t mean that! 
You’ve got yourself all worked up! 


210 



ACT II 


Nettie 

Oh, don’t I, though? Well, this is all I’ve got 
to say, and I mean every word of it! Either 
your father goes out of this house or I do, Fred 
Minick— 

{An emphatic pause.) 
—and I don’t care which it is! 

{Exits into passage, going to her room 
and slamming the door shut. Fred walks 
up toward the window in desperation. 
Minick enters from the passage. His en¬ 
trance is a pretty portentous one. That 
of the father who is going to remonstrate 
with his little hoy.) 

Minick 

Now, Fred! I want you to listen to me. 

Fred 

{A gesture of a man who has all he can 
stand and will hear no more.) 

Father! 

Minick 

I don’t know what Nettie’s had to say to you, 
but I want you to tell me all about this nonsense 
of yours! 

Fred 

Father, for God’s sake! Will you- 


211 



MINICK 


Minick 

All right! But I’m going to take hold of 
things just the same! I remember when you were 
nine years old- 

Fred 

But I’m not nine years old any longer. You 
don’t seem to realise that! 

Minick 

I realise you got no right to jump into a thing 
like this without coming to me about it- 

Fred 

Father, for God’s sake! You’re an old man! 
What do you know about modern business? 

(Crosses, taking his hat from desk as he 
goes.) 

If you’d only stay out of my affairs- 

(Exits and slams the outer door.) 

Minick 

(Stands for a moment, dazed. He crum¬ 
ples visibly.) 

An old man—that’s what he said—an old man. 
CURTAIN 


212 





ACT III 













% 


s 




I 
























I 




I 











ACT III 


SCENE 

The scene is the same. 

time 

Eight o'clock the following morning. 

The room faces East. The bright morn¬ 
ing sun is streaming in. 

Fred enters from the passage. He is in 
his bathrobe; his hair is tousled. He 
glances about as though searching for 
something. Not finding it in the living 
room he goes out into the hall. The out¬ 
side door is heard to open and close. He 
returns, plainly annoyed now. Calls. 

Fred 

Lula! Lula! 

(Gives a look into the dining room. 
Calls a third time.) 

Lula! 

(Lula enters in early morning working 
clothes and kitchen apron. She is in the 
process of preparing breakfast. Fred 
starts to speak just a second before Lula 
is seen by the audience.) 

215 


MINICK 


Lula, where’s the morning paper? Did you 
bring it in? 

Lula 

What? 

Fred 

Did you bring in the morning paper? 

Lula 

Yes, sir. I brought it in when I came. I put 
it right on your chair like always. 

Fred 

Well then, I suppose- 

(Nettie enters from the passage. She is 
wearing a plain dark cloth dress.) 

Nettie 

( Wearily) 

Good morning, Lula. 

Lula 

’Morning. Guess it’s in Mr. Minick’s room 
again. I’ll go see. . . . You folks pret’ near 
ready for breakfast? 

Nettie 

What’s in Mr. Minick’s room? 

Fred 

The morning paper. 

216 



ACT III 


Lula 

You folks pret’ near ready for breakfast? 
How you want your eggs ? 

Nettie 

Nothing for me but a cup of black coffee. 
Lula 

(Has turned to go. Over her shoulder:) 
No toast? 

Nettie 

I don’t want anything but a cup of black coffee. 
I didn’t close an eye all night. 

Fred 

( Annoyed) 

Lula, will you get me that newspaper? 

Lula 

Yes, sir. 

(Goes. Nettie marches past Fred with a 
good deal of breeze f goes to her desk, ar¬ 
ranges papers, opens and shuts drawers. 
Fred eyes her briefly and rather furtively 
over his shoulder.) 

Fred 

I thought you slept pretty well. Asleep every 
time I looked at you. 


217 


MINICK 


Nettie 

I heard the clock strike one—I heard it strike 
two—three—four—five. I dropped off for a 
minute around six, and then I heard Lula come in. 
(By the way her hand goes to her head we 
are led to suspect she has a headache. 
Lula enters with the newspaper y which is 
very much rumpled and awry. As she 
enters Fred takes a step towards her to 
receive paper. His eye alights on it. He 
gives an exclamation of vexation at its 
disarray. Nettie, seeing this, gives a 
glance of mild triumph that says, “Well, 
it f s your father! ,f Lula goes off. Fred 
starts to straighten the paper. Nettie 
sighs gustily.) 

He’s holding us all up; Lula’s waiting breakfast; 
you’re not even dressed. 

Fred 

Oh, well—all right. 

Nettie 

He’s been in that bathroom exactly twenty min¬ 
utes by the clock. I’m going to call him. 

(Nettie goes into the passage.) 

Fred 

(Just a gesture intended to restrain her.) 
Now!- 

(Stands listening a bit apprehensively, 
paper in hand.) 

218 




Photo by White Studio 


Fred: “Oh! For 





























> 







































I 



























* 







ACT III 


Nettie 

(Knocking at bathroom door off. Calls:) 
Father! 

(A muffled response from Minick.) 
Are you all right? 

(Another muffled response that is vaguely, 
“Sure, I’m all right”) 

Well—we were just wondering. You’ve been 
in there so long. 

(Another mumble from Minick.) 
Well, all right. But Fred is waiting. . . . All 
right. 

(Fred turns his attention to the news¬ 
paper. It is, in its present state, more 
than he can handle. He looks for a 
place on which to spread it, lays it on the 
big table, straightens it. One or two sec¬ 
tions are upside down. The paper ad¬ 
justed, he starts to read it. 

Minick, scrubbed and shirtless, appears in 
the passage. His outer shirt in hand, 
in his haste. His feet in the hall, his up¬ 
per body projecting far out in the living 
room as he grasps the door-jamb.) 

Minick 

I’m out! 

(He looks like a rosy old cherub. Pops 
back at once to his own bedroom.) 

219 


MINICK 


Fred 

Oh, all right. 

(Goes right on reading his newspaper, hut 
edging away from it, the tail of his eye on 
the end of the column of the story in which 
he was interested. 

Nettie returns. In the dining room Lula 
can he heard placing plates and breakfast 
dishes. You even catch a glimpse of her 
moving about the table.) 

Nettie 

Fred, will you go in and finish dressing! 

(Goes up to her desk.) 
I can’t have Lula getting three breakfasts every 
morning. 

Fred 

(A last look at the paper. Perhaps takes 
a step back for another glance.) 

Yeh. 

{An inarticulate assent. Goes off.) 
Nettie 

{Taking paper and pencil from desk. 
Notices Lula in dining room.) 

Oh—Lula. Come here, will you? 

Lula 

Yeh. 

{Comes to dining-room doorway, three 
forks in her hand.) 


220 


ACT III 


Nettie 

(Turns toward Lula, pencil in hand, paper 
ready on desk.) 

Now—what do we need? There’s enough 
lamb left for stew, isn’t there? 

Lula 

Don’t hardly think so. 

Nettie 

There ought to be. I didn’t eat a mouthful 

last night; and Mr. Min-we’ll make it do. 

. . . Any carrots in the house? 

Lula 

No, ma’am. 

Nettie 

No c-I’ll get a small bunch. 

(Writes carrots.) 

Open a can of peas. 

(Makes a circular gesture that wreathes 
the stew in carrots and peas.) 

You can bake a lemon pie. We ought to have 
a nice dessert with- 

Lula 

Lemon pie, when I got all that cleaning? 
Nettie 

All right. We’ll just cut up some fruit . . . 

(Half to herself.) 


221 





MINICK 


Now what else do we need? . . . Potatoes . . . 
Onions ... see Holzman . . . electric light 
globes . . . 

(Looks up perfunctorily.) 
We’ve got plenty of coffee. 

Lula 

No’m. Used up the last of it for breakfast. 
Nettie 

Why, Lula, you couldn’t! I just got a pound 
Saturday. 

Lula 

Ain’t none there. 

Nettie 

You’re drinking too much coffee, Lula. Very 
bad for you. Make you nervous. 

Lula 

( Laughs) 

I ain’t nervous. 

Nettie 

Well- 

(A little sound of disapproval.) 
We’ve got sugar. 

Lula 


No, ma’am. 


222 



ACT III 


Nettie 

(A look at Lula. Writes sugar.) 

Bread . . . Butter? . . . No, we don’t need 
butter . . . 

Lula 

Yeh, we need butter. 

Nettie 

( Outraged) 

But, Lula! 

(Turns back to list, defeated. Writes.) 
Butter . . . rice . . . lentils . . . Now, is there 
anything else we need? 

(Lula now goes of into a trance of deep 
thought. As she thinks she absent- 
mindedly brings the forks up to her mouth 
and taps her lips with them, lost in 
concentration.) 

Lula 

Now—let me see. No, ma’am. We don’t 
need anything. 

Nettie 

You’re sure, Lula? Think hard. I don’t 
want you to- 

Lula 

(Putting hand to face in attitude of deep 
thought.) 


223 



MINICK 


No’m. Can’t think of anything. 

(Goes into dining room . Minick enters, 
fully dressed.) 

Minick 

Breakfast ready? 

Nettie 

Good morning, Father. 

(Putting her list away.) 

Minick 

(A bit of strain in his manner.) 

Morning. Where’s Fred? Getting dressed? 

Nettie 

He’ll be right out. 

Minick 

I want to talk to Fred. 


Nettie 

He’ll be here in a minute. Did you sleep 
well? 

Minick 

Fair, fair! 

Nettie 

I looked in before we went to bed, but you were 
sound asleep. 


224 


ACT III 


Minick 

I heard you. And I heard the four of you go¬ 
ing on out here until must have been midnight— 
you and the Coreys. 

Nettie 

Oh—we were just talking. 

Minick 

I know—I know. 

{To Lula, in the dining room:) 

Look here, m’girl! I ain’t been getting my 
other pillow lately. What you been doing 
with it? 

Nettie 

Father, please! If there’s anything you want 
tell me and not Lula. 

Minick 

Two nights now she ain’t been giving me my 
other pillow. 

Nettie 

Father, you know you only use one pillow. I 
told Lula to take the other one away. 

Minick 

{Firm about it) 

I sleep on two pillows. 

Nettie 

But you don’t. Morning after morning, when 
225 


MINICK 


we make up the bed, we find one on the floor. 
You sleep on one pillow. 

Minick 

(Not yielding an inch) 

I sleep on two pillows. Ma always gave me 
two. 


Nettie 
{With a sigh) 

All right, Father. You’ll have two to-night. 
{Lula appears in dining room doorway, 
waving a percolator.) 

Lula 

Everybody ready? 

{It is an announcement rather than a 
query; she disappears immediately.) 

Nettie 

{Calling) 

Fred! Are you ready? 

Fred 

All right! In a minute! 

{His voice comes from far off.) 

Nettie 

Well, hurry up! 

Fred 

{Still far off) 

Go ahead—I’ll be right in! 

22 6 


ACT III 


Nettie 


Come, Father. 

Minick 

(Still on his pillows) 

Always have used two pillows. 

(Nettie and Minick go into the dining 
room. You still hear them, however, in 
the minutia of getting settled and eating.) 
What you got for breakfast? Something good? 


Nettie 


About the same as usual, Father. Thanks, 
Lula. 


Minick 


Orange juice, eh? Left over from the party, 
huh? 


(The noise of silverware.) 
Where’s Fred—coming? 


Nettie 

He’ll be here in a minute, Father. 


Minick 

Don’t know where that snow is they were pre¬ 
dicting. Don’t look much like snow to me to¬ 
day. Just guess at it, that’s all they do. Guess 
at it. Hello, Fred. 


Fred 

Good morning, Father. 

227 


MINICK 

Nettie 

Drink your orange juice, Fred—we’re waiting 
for you. 

Fred 

I don’t want any. 

Minick 

Don’t want any orange juice? Whole pitcher 
of it in the kitchen. 

Nettie 

You can take Mr. Minick’s glass, Lula. He 
doesn’t want any. 

(Fred enters from the dining room, 
gathers up the newspaper from the table; 
goes back into dining room.) 

Minick 

Not much news in the paper . . . 

(A pause.) 

Well, looks as if my cold just about left over¬ 
night. Yes, sir. Did me good, going out yester¬ 
day. Feel like having a pipe after breakfast— 
that’s a good sign. First time in four days. 
Pipe certainly don’t taste like anything when you 
got a cold. 

Fred 

Can’t you think of anything but eggs for 
breakfast? 


228 


ACT III 


Nettie 

We’re lucky to have those. 

Minick 

Understand over in England the English peo¬ 
ple eat a good deal of fish for breakfast. Got 
one fish they call a bloater, and another one they 
call the kipper or something. Somebody was 
telling me about it. Forget who it was. Fellow 
over at the Home, I guess. Ya, that’s who it 
was. Fellow name of McIntyre. Scotty, they 
call him. 

{The door hell rings.) 
Who’s that, I wonder? Somebody coming? 

Fred 

It’s probably just mail, Father. 

{Lula crosses.) 

Minick 

Nope. Wasn’t his ring. Always rings twice. 

Nettie 

It may be Lil. She’s going downtown early. 
{Minick appears in the dining room door¬ 
way—a half-eaten piece of toast in his 
hand and a napkin tucked in his collar. 
On the napkin is an egg spot, large enough 
to he in evidence. He is present purely 
out of curiosity, and continues to munch 
in a speculative way as he watches to see 

229 


MINICK 


who is at the door. You hear the door 
opened off.) 

Dietenhofer (off) 

Old gentleman in? 


Lula 

(In a tired voice) 

Yessir—he’s in. 

(When he hears Dietenhofer y s voice Min - 
ick evinces immediate interest.) 


Minick 


(Half to himself and half to Fred and 
Nettie) 

Gosh, it’s Dietenhofer. 

(Dietenhofer and Price enter, followed 
by Lula.) 

And Price too. Hel-lo there! 

(Pops the last of the toast into his 
mouth.) 

You must have got up in the middle of the 
night! 


(Lula crosses, exits again.) 


Dietenhofer 
Good morning! 


Price 

Morning! 

(Nettie enters from the dining room.) 
230 


ACT III 


Minick 

Well! Just in time for a bite of breakfast. 
Dietenhofer 

No—we come to tell you something. 

Nettie 

(Rather stiffly) 

Good morning. 

Dietenhofer 

’Morning, ma’am. We don’t aim to intrude. 
We just dropped in for a minute to see— 
(hesitates )—Minick about something. 

Nettie 
(A bit coldly) 

That’s all right. Won’t you take off your 
things? . . . Father? 

(Indicating that he might assist them.) 

Minick 

Yeh! 

Dietenhofer 
No, thank you, ma’am. 

Price 

(Ever the tardy explainer .)J 
We just dropped in. 

Nettie 

Well, I’m sure you’ll—just 
231 


MINICK 


(Starts for the back 
make yourself-Excuse me. 


of the house.) 
(Exits.) 


Minick 


Sit down! 
Fred! 


Sit down! 

(Calls into dining room.) 


Fred 

What? 

Minick 

i want you to meet couple of friends of mine. 
. . Gentlemen, you’ve never met my son. 


Dietenhofer 

No! No! But we want to talk to you. It’s 
important! 

(Dietenhofer and Price are noticeably un¬ 
easy and restless.) 

Minick 

Here he is! 

(Fred enters.) 

Fred, I want to make you acquainted with Mr. 
Dietenhofer and Mr. Price. My son Fred. 

(A hand proudly on his shoulder.) 

Fred 


How are you, gentlemen? 


232 



ACT III 

Dietenhofer 

Howdy-do ? 

(Shakes hands with Fred.) 
Price 

How are you! 

{While the handshaking is in progress 
Minick has remembered the napkin tucked 
in his collar, wipes his mouth with it, 
jerks it of, tosses it on a nearby chair.) 


Fred 

Sit down, gentlemen! My father’s often 
spoken of you. Sit down. 


Dietenhofer 

{Hesitates) 

Well— 


{Sits.) 

{Price does likewise. Both eye Fred nar¬ 
rowly. A look is exchanged between the 
two visitors.) 


Fred 

Well! You’re a couple of early birds, aren’t 
you? 


Dietenhofer 

Why, we just dropped in to talk over a little 
matter- 


233 



MINICK 

Price 

With Minick. 

Fred 

(A little laugh) 

Well, I guess I’m not qualified to sit in on your 
debates. I understand you boys have some 
pretty lively sessions over in the park. I’d 
certainly like to join you, though, if I can get a 
day off from the office. 

Dietenhofer 

Sure! Sure! 


Fred 

Yes, indeed! 

Dietenhofer 

I understand you’ve just gone into a new busi¬ 
ness, Mr. Minick. 


Fred 

(His smile vanishing) 

What’s that? 

Dietenhofer 

Minick here was telling us you’ve gone into 
the mail-order business. 

Fred 

{None too pleased) 

Oh, was he! 


234 


ACT III 


Minick 

(Taking an embarrassed turn up to the 

window.) 

Well—we were just talking—and I happened 
to bring up the- 

Price 

( Judicial) 

How’s it look? 

Fred 

(Somewhat stiffly) 

All right, thank you. 

Dietenhofer 

Minick here seemed pretty worried about it 
yesterday- 

(Minick is shifting, a little guiltily .) 

Fred 

Indeed! 

Dietenhofer 

He was asking us what we thought about it. 
Of course Price and me—we didn’t know much 
about it, but—we got taking it up with a few of 
the boys over at the Home last night—just a 
little crowd—ten, twelve—and they seemed to 
think you picked a pretty shaky time for it. 

Fred 


Oh—really? 


235 




MINICK 


Price 

Tell him what Davison said. 


Fred 


(Rises) 

Thank you. Some other time. 

(Moves toward the passage.) 


I have to go now. 
God! 


L (A quick glance at Minick.) 


(Exits.) 


Dietenhofer 


He went off pretty sudden. 

(Rises with Price.) 

But I’m glad he went. Ain’t we, Price? 

(In a confidential tone:) 
We come to tell you something you’ll be mighty 
interested to learn. 


Minick 

What’s that? 

Dietenhofer 

Remember what I told you yesterday about 
Patterson? Los Angeles? Well, he’s going. 

Price 

Los Angeles. 

Minick 


Well? 


236 


ACT III 


Dietenhofer 

Got a despatch this morning and going right 
out this afternoon. There’s your chance. Can’t 
tell how long it’ll be vacant. They grab ’em up 
mighty quick. You could get in if you went after 
it. Trimble likes you first rate, and so does she. 

Price 

We come right over. 

Dietenhofer 

Course I know you said yesterday you wouldn’t 
ever. But Price and me, we noticed your son’s 
wife was pretty hitey-titey with you. We was 
sort of remarking about it on the way home. 

Minick 

( Slowly, thoughtfully) 

Oh, Nettie, she don’t mean any harm. Kind 
of flares up now and then- 

Dietenhofer 

Well, harm or no harm, the minute I heard 
Patterson— 

(Fred comes down the passage .) 
—was actually going I says to Price, I says— 

(Turns to Price and then back to Minick.) 
Price, here’s the chance for Minick to come into 
the Home, where he can pay his three hundred a 
year and free as a bird. 

(Sees Fred and takes a step back,) 

237 



MINICK 

Price 

That’s what you- 

(Stops short on seeing Fred.)] 

Fred 

(Enters)] 

What’s that? 

(Takes a step in, his eyes on the old men, 
a dazed look on his face as though he has 
heard something his ears could not credit. 
He is carrying his overcoat, limply, so that 
it drags slightly on the floor. He is un¬ 
aware that he has it in his hand. As he 
speaks he lets the coat slide onto a chair 
without knowing it is gone. Bewilder¬ 
ment, unbelief, pain are in his voice.) 

Do you mean to tell me that you’re trying to 
persuade my father to go into the— 

(A vague gesture toward it.) 

—that Home ? 


Minick 

No harm meant. They just thought that if I 

was thinking of going over there, why- 

(Price and Dietenhofer, thoroughly 
frightened, back up toward the door.) 

Fred 

But you’re not, Dad. Tell them you’re not! 
238 




ACT III 


Minick 

Mm—I wasn’t exactly thinking of it- 

Fred 

I should hope not! Why, I never heard of 
such a thing. Home! 

Minick 

Well, a body might do worse, at that. 

Fred 

Dad, you don’t mean to tell me you actually— 
are thinking about it! 

(A moment’s heavy pause; Lula enters 
from the dining room and snatches Min¬ 
ick’s napkin from the chair,) 

Dietenhofer 

Guess we’ll be getting on our way. 

(He escapes with Price,) 

Fred 

(His eyes searching the old man’s face) 
Father! 

(The outer door slams. Actual terror in 
his voice.) 

Nettie! 

Minick 

(Raises a pacifying hand, though his tone 
is not completely reassuring.) 

239 



MINICK 


Now—now! Don’t you get her all excited! 

(Nettie re-enters from the passage.) 

Fred 

Nettie! Did you ever suspect that Dad was 
thinking of leaving here! 

Nettie 

Leaving! 


Fred 

That he was thinking of going to a Home? 
Nettie 

Why—no! 

Fred 

Well—he is! 

Minick 

Now, I don’t want you to get stirred up about 
this—you and Nettie. I thought it all out last 
night, and I’ve got it straight in my mind. 

Nettie 

Why, Father, what is it? 

Minick 

{To Fred) 

Well, you see, when you flared up at me 
yesterday- 


240 


ACT III 


Fred 

Now, Dad, I didn’t mean- 

Minick 

That’s all right. I was kind of taken aback at 
first. Didn’t know just what to make of it, and 
then—I got to thinking. And I remembered how 
Nettie’s club ladies—they busted up the minute 
I started to talk to them. 

Nettie 

That’s over now. Let’s not talk about it. 

Minick 

And then, putting two and two together—all 
of a sudden, it come to me. I says to myself— 
Fred and Nettie—they’re right. They don’t 
want to be told things by an old fellow like me. 

Fred 

Why, Dad, you’re not old! 

Minick 

I’m turned seventy-two. Yessir! I’m a 
pretty old codger. It’s funny how you don’t 
realize that till somebody tells you right out. 

Fred 

Oh! 

Minick 

You fool yourself. Everybody else gets old, 

241 



MINICK 


but not you. You see, I belong to one—time, 
and you belong to another. You go to work and 
try to mix up the two and you run right smack 
into trouble. Look at yesterday. I was telling 
that girl—you know—one that made the speech 
—that what she was saying wouldn’t work. 

Nettie 

But, Father, Miss Crackenwald is an author¬ 
ity on- 

Minick 

Say, you can put nineteen billiard tables in 
your house, and your youngsters will run around 
the corner to play billiards just the same. 

Fred 

That’s all right, Dad. She didn’t- 

Minick 

Of course not. And that ain’t what I’m aim¬ 
ing at. I mean the whole thing. Not just you 
and me and Nettie. But you see, young people 
don’t think old people have got any sense; and 
old people don’t think young folks know any¬ 
thing. You take out in the park all summer, 
there wasn’t a better informed man among ’em 
than I was. Problems of the day. You take 
whether Germany can meet her payments- 

Fred 

We know, Dad. But you and I understand 
each other. 


242 





ACT III 


Minick 

Why, mornings they used to wait till I got there 
before they’d start in. “Here he comes now, 
they’d say.” Yessir, we’d have it hot and heavy, 
and it’d take a pretty good man to down me. 
And that’s why—with winter coming and—no 
park—you see, a fellow has got to have people 
around that understands him. 

Nettie 

But you can have your friends in here. It just 
happened that yesterday I had that meeting. 

Fred 

Yes! 

Minick 

Over there, they’ve all got about the same 
way of doing things. That’s why I want to go. 
Get up early in the morning, you don’t have to 
worry for fear you’re going to wake somebody 
else up. If you want company, all you have to 
do is open your door. If you don’t want com¬ 
pany, shut it. You see, when a fellow gets my 
age he’s kind of set in his ways. I guess maybe 
Ma used to spoil me. 

Fred 

We’re going to take care of you now. 

Minick 

Sit and listen to me by the hour. “That’s so, 

243 


MINICK 


Ben.” “You’re right, Ben.” Used to make me 
think I was smarter than all get-out. I guess 
maybe she was the smart one. 

Fred 

But, Dad—you are smart. 

Nettie 

I should say so. 

Fred 

Why, for your age- 

Minick 

{Raises an accusing finger.) 

You see! 

Fred 

Dad, you make me feel just terrible. Do you 
think we’d let you go away from here? Never! 

Nettie 

It’ll work out. You’ll see. 


Fred 

Now come, Dad. 


Minick 

{Still with his own thoughts :) 

But here’s the funny part of it. Once, after 
she took sick, she said, “Ben, Fred and Nettie are 
going to want you to come with them. Don’t 

244 



ACT III 


you do it.” You see, Ma didn’t ever know how 
bad things got to be with the money. But she 
knew a lot of things I’m just finding out. She 
was pretty smart. 

Fred 

But Dad, you’re all wrong. Now we’re going 
to keep you right here and look after you. 

Nettie 

It’s going to be your home as much as ours, and 
you can do just whatever you like. 

Minick 

No, I don’t want you to change for me. It 
ain’t natural. No call for you children to live 
an old man’s life, but you see with me- 

Fred 

But, Dad, we’ll do anything to make you happy. 

Nettie 

Of course. 

Minick 

H’m, well—I know. But I don’t want to feel 
that anybody’s waiting around for me—you see, 
us Minicks, we’re long livers. I’m good for an¬ 
other ten, fifteen years. 

Fred 

Of course you are, Dad, and you’re going to 
spend them here with us—every one of them. 

245 



MINICK 

Nettie 

Indeed you are! 

Fred 

Now, Dad, we want you here! I’m all broken 
up about this. We want you with us. Net¬ 
tie— 

Nettie 

Of course, Father. We wouldn’t hear of it 
any other way. You know that. 

Minick 

( Slowly, thoughtfully) 

Well, of course, if you feel that way I don’t 
want to make you children unhappy, but- 

Fred 

Then it’s settled. Now, I don’t want to hear 
of any more such foolishness out of you again, 
young man. 

Nettie 

It’s settled, and over! 

Fred 

Yes, and from now on, things are going to be 
different! We’ll start to-night! I’ll come home 
early from the office, and- 

Minick 


M-m-m-m. 


246 




ACT III 


Fred 

And we’ll have a nice little dinner, just the 
three of us! 

Nettie 

(Taking her cue) 

Everything you like. Chicken with dump¬ 
lings— 

Fred 

And after % dinner, we’ll spend the evening just 
with you! I’ll tell you what! You can teach us 
pinochle. Will you do that, Dad? 

Minick 

We’ll see. We’ll see. 


Nettie 

And I’ll tell you what else we’re going to 
do- 

(The door bell rings,) 
that’ll be Lil. At ten o’clock we’ll mix up some 
of those little fizzes that you like, and—-— 

(Nettie goes to answer the bell.) 

Fred 

Now, then, it’s a date. And you’re not going 
to disappoint us? Why, you had me scared out 

of seven years’ growth! The idea of your- 

(Lil and Net are heard in the hall, ex - 

247 





MINICK 


changing greetings. Lil enters 9 followed 
by Nettie.) 

Lil 

Oh—hello, Fred. Thought you’d be gone. 
Fred 

I’m just leaving. 

(Crossing for his coat.) 
Lil 

Good morning, Mr. Minick. 

Minick 

Good morning. 

Fred 

(Preparatory to leaving) 

Well, I guess I’ll-- 

(Slaps his pockets to see if he has every¬ 
thing. ) 

Nettie 

Father Minick, don’t you want to go out for a 
while and take a walk? 

Fred 

Yes, Dad. Bright day like this. Clear your 
cold right up. 

Minick 

Well—maybe I might. 

248 



ACT III 
Nettie 

Yes, that’ll be- 

(Lula enters from the passage to answer 
the door. Stops as she sees that the visi¬ 
tor has already entered.) 

It’s all right, Lula. I went. 

{As Lula turns to go.) 
Oh, Lula. Father Minick’s going out for a 
walk. So you can give his room a real cleaning. 
Do his first. And, oh, Lula I Did you clear 
away the breakfast things? 

Lula 

Yes’m. 


Nettie 

I’d hardly touched my coffee. I wonder if 
you’d mind getting me a fresh cup. 


Lula 

(Sighs) J 

No’m. 


Nettie 

Just put it on the table. 


[(She goes.) 


Fred 

Want to take me as far as the L, Dad? 


Minick 

You go ahead. It’ll take me a while. 
249 



MINICK 

Lil 

(To Minick) 

It isn’t as warm as it looks. You’d better 
bundle up. 

Minick 

(Starts toward his room.) 

I’ll bundle. 


Fred 

Good-bye, Dad! 

(Reaches over and gives his father, as he 
passes, two reassuring slaps on the shoul¬ 
ders. ) 


Good-bye. 


Minick 

(Goes into passage .) 


Fred 

Don’t forget to-night! 

(Turns back to the two women.) 
Going down on the L, Lil? Want to come 
with me ? 


Lil 

Why—not just yet, Fred. Thought I’d stay 
and talk to Net a while. 

Fred 

(You’re up and out pretty early, all right. 

250 


ACT III 
Lil 

( The eternal answer.) 

I’ve been up for hours. I didn’t close an eye 
all night. I heard the clock strike one—two— 
three. I dropped off for a minute around six. 

(A look of recognition on Fred’s face.) 

Fred 

That’s too bad. 

(Crosses to Nettie.) 

Well, Nettie? 

(His look and tone savour of concilia - 
tion.) 

Nettie 

(Without much life in her tone) 

Good-bye, Fred. 

Fred 

(Is just back of her chair.) 

You were a peach, old girl. 

(Is rather awkward and sheepish about 
this y yet he wants to say it before he goes.) 
And I want you to know I appreciate it. 

Nettie 

What else was there to do, Fred? 

Fred 

just the same, you were mighty fine about it, 
and—don’t you forget it. As far as the business 
is concerned—it’s going to be all right—you’ll 
see. We’re going to have lots of money some 
day. 


251 


MINICK 

Nettie 


I hope so, Fred. 


Fred 


(Awkwardly) 

Not sore at your old man, are you? 
Nettie 

No. 


Fred 

I didn’t mean to keep it from you. But every 
time I tried to tell you I lost my nerve. So I 
thought I’d wait until it really got going. I’m 
sorry. 

Nettie 

(Rises) 

I’m sorry too—about everything I said. I 
said terrible things, I know. 

Fred 

(They embrace.) 

It’s all right. I understand. 

(They kiss.) 

Peach! 

(Goes into the hall.) 

Good-bye, Lil. 

(The slam of the door; Nettie faces Lil 
again.) 


252 


ACT III 


Lil 

(A silent observer of the reconciliation.) 

Well! 

Nettie 

{Sighs) 

Lil, what could I do? Father Minick just 
threatened to pack up and go to an Old Man’s 
Home. 

Lil 

Net! 

Nettie 

Just now! 

Lil 

And coming on top of that terrible session last 
night? 

{Nettie nods.) 

I can imagine. 

Nettie 

{Sits in desk chair.) 

Lil, after you and Jim left last night I had a 
kind of nervous chill. I was just like this. 

{She indicates, with hands tremulously 
rigid y just how terrible had been the or¬ 
deal. ) 

Lil 

Well, if I had a nervous chill every time, Jim 
253 


MINICK 


and I—h’m—you’ll learn- Why don’t you 

come downtown with me ? Do you good. 

(Lula enters the dining room with a cup 
of coffee.) 

Nettie 

Oh, Lula’s cleaning and I’ve got my ordering 
to do. I don’t know—maybe I will. 

Lula 

( Calling) 

Your coffee’s ready. 

Nettie 

All right, Lula. 

(A glance over her shoulder.) 
Oh, bring it in here, will you? Lil, maybe you 
might like a cup of hot coffee. I can get another. 
(Rises, gets cup from Lula and returns to 
her desk. Lula exits.) 

Lil 

I couldn’t swallow a mouthful. I didn’t eat a 
bite of breakfast. Black coffee was all I had, and 
I forced myself to drink that. 

Nettie 

(Sits again.) 

Well, I thought maybe it’d buck me up a little. 

(Sigh.) 

Of course, Lil, I don’t have to tell you what it 
means to me, this having Father Minick in the 

254 



ACT III 


house. He’ll be here for God knows how long. 
Of course I don’t mean I’d have it any different, 
but there’s no use fooling yourself. Here we are, 
stuck in this five-room flat, and no prospects of 
anything better for years to come. Everything 
tied up in that new business, and Father Min- 
ick- 

(A gesture.) 

It means no children for Fred and me—-that’s 
what it means. 

Lil 

Well, Net, you’re taking a pretty gloomy view 
of it, I think. After all, I suppose lots of other 
people have had the same problem, and worked it 
out some way or other. 


Nettie 

Maybe. But it doesn’t look so simple to me. 
Lil 

(Dismis singly) 

Oh, well! 

(Consciously changing the subject :) 
Tell me, what are you going to wear to-night? 

Nettie 

What? 

Lil 

Daisy’s party—what are you going to wear? 
You see, we’ll be driving, and—— 

255 




MINICK 

Nettie 


Lil! 


Lil 

What’s the matter? 

Nettie 

I forgot all about it! We can’t go—that’s all. 

Lil 

Can’t go—what do you mean? It’s the send- 
off part for Lou and- Why can’t you go? 

Nettie 

We—we forgot, I tell you. We promised 
Father Minick we’d stay home. 

Lil 

But, Nettie, I don’t- What are you talk¬ 
ing about? You’ve known for weeks- 

Nettie 

Lil, we’ve got to stay with him. I told you 
about the scene we had. 

Lil 

Why, I never heard of such a thing. You cer¬ 
tainly told Daisy- 

Nettie 

I know, but—you see what’s happened. 

256 






ACT III 


Lil 

But, good heavens, Net! What’ll Daisy say? 
She’ll be calling you up any minute to- 

Nettie 

Well, Lil, I can’t help it—that’s all. I 
wouldn’t dream of- 

Lil 

She ’phoned me just before I left the house. 
It’s going to be wonderful! You know the way 
Daisy is. They’ve chartered a whole bus, and 
they’re going to pick everybody up around six- 
thirty. 

Nettie 

Lil, I’ve told you what an awful-- 

Lil 

She’s ’phoning everybody to tell them what 
time. Net, you can’t back out now. 

Nettie 

Well, Lil, you know I’m crazy to go! It’s just 
that- 

Lil 

But it sounds so silly. He’s not a stranger 
here. And just to-night—he wouldn’t mind. 

Nettie 


But he would, because- 
257 







MINICK 


Lil 

Now listen! It’s going to be a marvellous af¬ 
fair! First we’re driving out to Donahue’s for 
one of those wonderful chicken dinners! Then 
we’re going on to The Den! 


Nettie 

(W eakening) 

Oh, Lil! 

Lil 

I tell you, it’s going to be marvellous! 

(Her voice rises on the word; she draws 
it out.) 

And from The Den we’re going to the Early Hour 
Club, and Lord knows when we’ll get home! 
Now don’t be silly! 

Nettie 

I don’t know what to say. I’m afraid Fred 
wouldn’t- 

Lil 


Of course he would. 

(Minick enters from the passage. He 
is wearing his hat and overcoat. At his 
entrance there is a confused and embar¬ 
rassed stop on the part of the two women.) 

Minick 

{As he crosses) 

Well! 


258 



ACT III 

Nettie 

( Nervously) 

Oh—are you going for your walk, Father? 
Minick 

Yep. Going right out. 

Nettie 

( Confusedly, following him) 

Well—Father Minick—uh—would you- 

Minick 

(Near the hall door. Stops.) 

Huh? 

Nettie 

I was just wondering if- 

(Her speech trails off into nothingness. 
She looks helplessly at Lil, who tries to 
encourage her with a hit of pantomime 
urging.) 

Minick 

What’s the matter? 

Nettie 

Well, you see, Fred and I forgot all about a 
party that we’re invited on to-night. It’s a great 
big farewell party for some friends of ours that 
are going to Europe. 


259 




MINICK 

Minick 

Why, sure! I’ll probably be in bed long be¬ 
fore you start out. 

Nettie 

But, you see, Father, it’s rather an early party. 
Minick 

Oh—you mean you’re going right after dinner? 

(A step toward them.) 

Nettie 

Well—no—the point is—we’re supposed to go 
for dinner, if you wouldn’t mind. 

Minick 

For dinner? 


Lil 

(Her tone over-sweet) 

Now, you wouldn’t mind, would you, Father 
Minick? This once? 

Minick 

Me? Why—no—I don’t mind. 

(Crosses slowly hack toward the passage.) 
I can take care of myself. Take care of myself 
fine. 

Nettie 

Now, you know, Father Minick, we’d just as 
260 


ACT III 


soon stay home. I told Lil that if you minded at 
all- 


Minick 

Why, sure I don’t mind. Nobody has to stay 
home with me. You run along with your 
friends— 

(Pinches her cheek gently.) 
—and have a good time. 

Nettie 

It’s only that it’s such a special party, but it 
doesn’t mean a thing to me. You see, these peo¬ 
ple are such good friends of Fred’s- 

Minick 

That’s all right. 

Nettie 

Well, if you’re sure- 

Minick 

Yes, sir. I’m sure as can be. It’s all right. 

Nettie 

That is sweet of you, Father. Aren’t you go¬ 
ing out? 

Minick 

Pretty soon. Pretty soon. 

{He exits into the passage; goes to his 
room.) 


261 





MINICK 

Lil 

You see! I told you it would be all right. 

Nettie 

Yes—I hope so. 

(Sitting on sofa.) 

Lil 

My heavens, you can’t let him tie you down 
like that! 

Nettie 

No, I suppose not, but —(a shift of mood) — 
tell me, what are you going downtown for so 
early? 

Lil 

Field’s advertise georgettes for $1.95—all col¬ 
ours—in the basement. I thought I’d get some 
flesh colour and make myself a little negligee. 
Did you see the one Marge has? Of course, she 
paid a million dollars for it, but I can copy it for 
practically nothing. 

Nettie 

Are they hard to make? 

Lil 

There’s nothing to them. Just two straight 
lengths, hanging right from the shoulder. Simple 
as a nightgown. 


262 


ACT III 


Nettie 

I wonder if I could make one. 


Lil 

Of course you could. Why don’t you get some 
too? Look at it, anyway. 

Nettie 


Well, maybe I will. 

{Lula enters from the passage.) 
I wonder if they have- What is it, Lula ? 


Soap! 
What? 


Lula 

Nettie 


Lula 

I haven’t got any soap for my cleaning! 


Nettie 

{Wearily crossing to her desk) 
All right, Lula. I’ll put it on my list. 


Lula 

{Starts to go then turns.) 

I got to have it right away. Ain’t got a speck* 

Nettie 

{With exaggerated patience) 

I’m going in a minute, Lula. I’ll have it sent 
right over. 


263 



MINICK 


Lula 

Expect me to clean without cleanin’ soap! 

(Exits into the passage.) 

Nettie 

Isn’t it incredible! You’d think /’d forgotten 
it. 

Lil 

They’re all alike. They never tell you till the 
last minute. . . . Are you ready? 

Nettie 

Yes, I guess so. 

(Goes into the hall for her coat and hat, 
talking as she goes.) 

I wonder if they have any orchid—georgette, I 
mean. I think orchid would be good on me, don’t 
you? 

Lil 

{In doorway, powdering her nose.) 

Yes, orchid would be—or if they haven’t or¬ 
chid, what do you think? 

Nettie 

Well—blue. But not that hard blue. You 
know that blue I wear. . . . 

{Has put on her hat, one arm now in coat 
sleeve.) 

Oh! If I’m going downtown, I’ll have to tell 
Lula- 

{Comes into room.) 


264 



ACT III 


Lula! Lula! 

(Lula appears in the passage door.) 
Lula, I won’t be home to lunch. And Mr. Min- 
ick and I won’t be home for dinner. There’ll 
just be Father Minick. You know what there is. 
And Lula, I wouldn’t bother to do much in this 
room. Go right ahead with the bedrooms. And 
do Father Minick’s room first, so you’ll be out 
of his way by the time he gets back. I’ll be back 
about three. And Lula—don’t sing while he’s 
taking his nap. 


Lil 

Net, everything’ll be picked over if we 
don’t—— 


Nettie 

All right, Lil. And, oh, Lula—if Mrs. Stew¬ 
art telephones—here I’ll write it- 

(Writes the name on a slip of paper.) 

Lil 

She may say Daisy Stewart. 

Nettie 

Yes, Mrs. Stewart or Daisy Stewart. Tell 
her that Mr. Minick and I will be ready any time 
they come for us. Now, do you understand 
that? 

(Crossing to the table and putting the slip 
of paper there.) 

265 




MINICK 

Lula 

(Miles behind) 

Miss who? 


Nettie 

If Mrs. Stewart- 


(She gives up.) 

If anybody ’phones I’ll be back at three. 

Lil 


Come on, Net. 


Nettie 

All right, Lil. Listen, how wide is it? 

(Gets her purse from the desk.) 
How much do you think I’ll need? 

Lil 

Let me see—two lengths straight from the 
shoulder—oh, I should think about three yards 
would be enough. 


Nettie 


Three yards? That isn’t bad , is it? 

( They are in the hall.) 
Three times a dollar ninety-five—how much is 
that? 

(The outer door slams.) 
{Lula, back in the dining room, starts 
singing in a low voice as she gathers up 
one or two things from the table.) 

2 66 



ACT III 
Lula 

( Singing) 

“Nobody knows de trouble I’ve seen-” 

{She appears in the dining room doorway, 
seeking the extra coffee cup.) 

“Nobody knows but-” 

{She spies it on the desk.) 

There it is. 

{She gathers it, then resumes the song, 
low-voiced, as she heads again for the din¬ 
ing room.) 

“Nobody knows de trouble I’ve seen-” 

(The last word or so is almost lost as she 
bends over the slip of paper that Nettie 
has placed on the table . Then, satisfied 
about that, she finishes the spiritual in a 
grand crescendo as she goes again into 
the dining room.) 

“Glory Hallelujah!” 

{Minick enters from the passage. He 
has his coat on one arm and is wearing his 
hat. In his arms, also, is his suitcase — 
the same one that he brought into the 
house when he came. It is partly packed 
—a few shirts piled on top of it indicate 
a possible reason for his adjournment 
to the living room. There is nothing 
hurried or furtive in his manner; he is 
a calm old man who has made his de¬ 
cision. He peers around for Lida as he 
enters.) 


267 





MINICK 


Minick 

Lula! 

(He deposits the suitcase on the sofa.) 
Lula 

(Returns from the dining room, coffee cup 
still in hand.) 

Yeh? 

Minick 

Where’s my other shirts? 

Lula 

What you doin’ that suitcase? 

Minick 

Never mind. Where are they? 

(He throws his hat and coat over a 
chair.) 

Lula 

They in the wash. What you want with them ? 
Minick 

When’ll you have ’em done? 

Lula 

I irons Tuesday. What you up to, anyhow? 
Minick 

(Kneels and starts packing the remaining 
268 


ACT III 


shirts which he carried in on top of the 
case.) 

Tuesday, eh? And what’s the name of that 
fella comes and takes your trunk away? 
Palmer’r something. 


Lula 

You mean Parmalee Transfer Company? 

Minick 

That’s him. Got an office right down the 
street. 

Lula 

What you want transfer company for? 

Minick 

What do you think I want ’em for? I want 
’em to come and take a trunk. 

Lula 

Mrs. Minick didn’t tell me ’bout no trunk. 
What you going do ? 

Minick 

I know what I’m going to do. 

Lula 

If Mrs. Minick don’t know about it she goin’ 
be awful mad when she come home. 

269 


MINICK 

Minick 

That’s all right. 

(He drops the lid of the suitcase.) 
Mad or no mad, I’m going. 

Lula 

What you mean—goin’! Mrs. Minick ain’t 
goin’ let you go no place. 

Minick 

(Still kneeling in front of the suitcase. 
He is strapping it now.) 

Let me! I’m not a child. I know what I 
want to do, and I’m going to do it. Think I was 
a plumb fool! 

(He gets to his feet, picking up the suit¬ 
case with an air of finality.) 

What’s Nettie got to do with it! I got a right to 
be with my own kind of folks. I’m sorry for 
Fred and Nettie, but I can’t be thinking of them 
all the time. There’s young and there’s old, and 
they got to be let go their own ways. 

(He is really talking aloud more than ac¬ 
tually to Lula. Perhaps he himself is 
somewhat surprised to find himself shap¬ 
ing his new philosophy in speech.) 

Lula 

I don’t know what you talkin’ about. 

(Mystified, she decides to give it up, and 
go back to her work. Minick } s next 
words stop her at the dining-room door.) 

270 


ACT III 
Minick 

(Puts down suitcase> and plunges one arm 
into his overcoat. There is about him a 
new vigour; an air of satisfaction and 
determination.) 

I’ll tell you what I’m talking about. If I want 
to go to the Home, they got no right to keep me 
from it, Fred and Nettie. I got my own life, 
same as anybody. 

{He realizes that unconsciously he has put 
into one line everything that he has been 
trying to say. This rather pleases him y 
and he repeats the line for his own en¬ 
joyment.) 

Yes, sir! I got my own life, same as anybody. 

{His mind still on that line y he reaches for 
his hat and settles it jauntily on his head. 
He smiles y and it is the quiet y satisfied 
smile of one who has solved his problem.) 
And I know just what I’m going to do with it. 

{He picks up the suitcase with a new 
strength and walks with spring and buoy¬ 
ancy toward the hallway and the door to 
freedom. Halfway across y he turns just 
for a second to toss a parting thought to 
the much-puzzled Lula.) 

I ain’t going to waste it teaching pinochle to 
anybody! 

CURTAIN 


271' 




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